Through Sleep She Came
by wrena
Summary: How much would you be willing to risk, how far would you tempt fate, how many boundaries would you be willing to cross, to save the man you have loved throughout the ages These questions are vital to a young ballerina who comes into Eriks world - for she knows the consequences are irreversible, the damage irreparable. What must it take to convince this tragic figure he is loved.
1. Chapter 1

THROUGH SLEEP SHE CAME

Chap. 1..Intrusions

Eric sat slumped in his seat in box five. Not the exact posture an opera ghost should have. One, of his infamous actions of the past should at least sit proud, even if it is only in an abandoned building. After all he had a reputation to up hold. Alas writers block had settled in as well as a certain restless wandering of the mind. Was he to old to compose any more? With a sigh he doodled on the pieces of blank paper on hand. Not only had the composing eluded him, but also a story for an opera, the stage design, the characters, costumes, all refusing to emerge in the mind of the genius for months now. Being alone had not been a problem for inspiration in the past. He had always been alone and had grown to accept it. His greatest masterpieces had been created out of loneliness. No, being alone was the best for him. He remembered the mess he'd made of things a few years ago with Christine. If only he'd planned his so called future with out so much haste, and put more consideration into his actions, events may have turned out quite different. Letting obsession and passion overwhelm common sense was a valuable lesson. Trying to learn from his mistakes was proving a little difficult for Erik. In around 6mths time the opera house renovations would be completed, therefore an opera to beat all operas must ensue.

Almost nodding off Eric bolted out of his slump when a shadow in the wings of the stage caught his eye. No one came here at night after the work men had left, and his temper still flared with intrusions. In daylight he had to tolerate these infringements, but the night was all his, and his alone. Blank paper sheets slid to the floor as he swiftly stood ready to bring the ghost alive again and scare off this intruder. He needed the practise anyway. The shadow seemed to be a cloak. Someone was standing with their back to him in the wings. Perhaps it was curiosity that stopped him from bellowing fear straight away from the shadows, for in a few flowing moments, the cloak folded to the ground exposing a petite ballerina. With her back still to him, she gracefully lifted both arms to the top of her head unclasping something that let a cascade of golden hair fall to her waist. With a slight bend of her knees she was on pointe and floating it seemed, to centre stage. It was not till she turned to pirouette did Erik get a better look at this little intrusion. The first strange thing he noticed was her ballet attire. It was nothing like he'd seen in this opera house before. Her bodice was lower cut than others and had thin straps going over the shoulders. Her tutu skirt was not the near knee length frilly type the ballet rats wore in practise. Hers hugged her waist and hips and had an opening down the front of her leg ending near her ankles. In fact, the whole outfit showed off every conture of her slender body. The best part was the effect this 'skirt' had was as she pirouetted. It seemed to expand and billow around her like swirling mist. Along with her golden hair doing the same, Erik had never seen anything so mesmerising. He was so transfixed, that when she'd stopped, Erik was aware his jaw had dropped open for the length of her dance. He quickly snapped it shut with a sharp intake of breath.

The dancer was standing mid stage in first position, facing the front, head bowed and hands clasped in front. She seemed to be waiting an appraisal of her performance. Weather she'd heard the phantoms intake of breath or not, she turned a little, positioned her whole body facing box five and raised her lovely face to seer her eyes into his. Erik felt an unfamiliar shot of panic go through him. Could she sense him there, he knew she couldn't actually see him, or could she. With an expression Erik could only work out as slight acknowledgement, she gracefully gave a small bow of her head, turned abruptly to the wings, donned her cloak and promptly vanished. No, Erik screamed to himself. Don't go. Not yet. A flustered phantom in his haste nearly slipped as he descended the small spiral staircase concealed in the pillar of box five. He knew every secret passageway in the entire opera house and would be able to reach any doorway before she could leave. If only to glance at her more closely. This one certainly didn't warrant a scare, yet. Erik had to know more. Try as he may, there was no sign she was ever in the building. No fading footsteps, a small sound of a closing door, maybe a faint perfume perhaps. Nothing. "And I thought I was the master of disappearance." muttered a perplexed ghost.

Erik paced in his lair, a habit he'd grown into to try and calm his impatience and bad temper. After Christine he vowed to be more tolerable to others, more understanding. Most of the time it didn't work. Like tonight for instance. Phantom had spent hours checking doors and other 'secret outlets' of the opera house. Maybe the ballerina had been let in by a worker, or by chance found a door left open by mistake. Hell would befall these buffoons if this was the case, but no evidence was found. "How had she done it." he asked Ebon. Ebon had slinked his way into the vast cavern on the night of the fire, and promptly made himself at home. At least this companion was flesh and bone, not made of lead and persian robes. This companion was warm to touch and had the sleekest black shiny coat possible for a stray. He adored his master and showered him with constant purrs and furry contact. Erik had never loved an animal more. Between a more successful, but limited ivory tinkling, the ballerina kept haunting him. With a snort he chastised himself for using that word. He was supposed to be the ghost and he did the haunting. Yet she had had that aura about her. Something quite not off this time and age was the best he could describe her. Returning back to the task at hand, Erik decided the short melody he'd just created was not so bad. At least it was a start. He compared it to a velvety mist swirling and wavering then finally going on its way. The last thing Erik remembered of that night before falling asleep at his pipe organ, was of white floating material spiralling around the statue of a goddess.

The phantom spent the next day with an unusual spring in his step. Going over the short melody he composed the night before gave him hope that all was not lost. He'd see this girl again tonight for sure, find out who she was and what she thought she was doing in his opera house without permission – not to mention how she'd managed to slip by him and disappear. Maybe, just maybe, if there was a good enough reason for her trespassing, and she obeyed everything he commanded, he might just let her stay a few nights. A few nights would be all. Not like the last time when a certain beauty was supposed to stay forever. Oh no, never down that path again. Christine had stayed in his heart, but time had taken the edge off the pain. Still, Erik knew his heart would never survive another torment after Christine. The damage had been done for life in both body and soul. He'd resigned to the fact that no one could possibly love him with a face such as his. How on earth had he even considered being worthy of a chance at love. Just who did he think he was those two years ago. How so self assured he'd been then. How naïve, how foolish, how blind. What life could he have offered Christine? Even now she could bring stinging tears to his eyes. 'Long ago the past, tomorrows future cast.' a mantra Erik had grown accustomed to saying. Did it work, he liked to think so.

After the workmen had left the phantom made his way to box 5 with music sheets to wait out his vigil. He cursed himself for not taking note of the time she'd appeared the night before – not that he'd had any use for clocks. By now he'd estimated a few hours must have passed and the notes he'd been jotting down were coming less and less. The usual pacing outside box 5 had started up. All inspiration had left him and was replaced with impatience and growing anger. An inspection in the wings confirmed the obvious and finally out of frustration Erik stormed back to his lair. Not getting his own way was foreign to the opera ghost. How dare she not appear. Was she making a fool out of him, playing games. "Cursed woman." he bellowed as he kicked a crate out of his way sending the broken planks flying over the cavern floor. Fuming he sat down to compose but nothing came – except if you want to include the excruciating pain the pipe organ let out as a fist pounded down on the long suffering ivory keys. As for Ebon this was the norm. He got up from his sleeping place, yawned, stretched and walked out in disgust to find a quieter corner. Erik had obviously forgotten he had not wanted any intruders in his home in the first place.

The next day was spent watching the workmen, watching everything and everyone in fact, anything to give him a clue as to the girls identity. Maybe she's a relative of one of these drones. Last nights outburst had left him in a foul temper. There had been no release in his aggressive behaviour. Frustration only fed his impatience for nightfall, while during the day the atmosphere was thick with menace. The workers went about their jobs in an uneasy silence, suggesting every intake of their breath was laced with the phantoms oppressive aura. Their day was spent eyeing every shadow that moved or flinching at any unnatural noise that occurred. Phantom didn't care, he knew he hadn't walked as stealthily as usual or made himself less conspicuous. Gathering up sheets of music to mull over, he one again placed himself in box 5. Now the time was near the phantom let himself feel excitement of what the confrontation had to offer. This sorely turned to disappointment as the night went by. As Erik approached the stage he chided himself for being foolish. How pathetic he had become, standing mid stage willing a girl to appear he didn't want there in the first place. Had his loneliness made him grab onto the first human to come along – and a female at that. A dark shadow moved in the wings and a flash of hope went through the phantoms mind. Ebon casually wandered over to his master. With a smile Erik crouched down to scratch his ears, resulting in the all comforting purrs. "Ah, so my loyal black beauty returns. What must you think of your pitiful master now eh. Waiting here for a stranger to appear. Someone who could well bring me danger." Ebon rubbed his head over the phantoms hands. "Why am I bothering. Why should she return. There's nothing here for her, certainly not me."

But why did she seem to look straight into his eyes, phantom thought. Surely it wasn't imagined. She had even given me a slight bow...hadn't she. Eriks thoughts were interrupted by Ebons sudden change in manner. "Discovered some dinner we." phantom asked. Ebon had stiffened, the hackles standing the length of his spine. Erik gracefully stood looking in the same direction as the cat. Was there really the presence of what looked like to be mist forming in the wings? Quick and silent on his feet as only the phantom can, he positioned himself out of sight at the opposite wing. If this was the girl returning, he didn't want her frightened off..just yet. Yes there was a shimmer there and Ebon has seen it as well as a low whine had come from the cats throat. The atmosphere crackled with anticipation. The phantom held his breath. In a couple of minutes all was gone however, and the dull atmosphere of a silent abandoned opera house returned. Ebon had started to have a wash. Erik felt a lump in his throat and a wave of sadness overcame him. You are a disfigured disgrace of a human being, not that he considered myself human in that sense. This is what happens when you let yourself open, especially for human contact. Friendship and love came to those who were whole and pure. Phantom knew this, so why did he dare to hope. Quickly an emotional exhaustion had taken over. "Come on Ebon, lets go home. I promise to be on my best behaviour, no more tantrums tonight."

Phantom fell into a fretful sleep. At least it was in his bed, much more comfortable than the organ seat. He rarely dreamed. If he did it was never about anything positive. Mostly it was rehashed memories of his torturous past, those cruel atrocities his body and mind he was forced to endure. This dream however was so curious it floated in and out of his mind the entire next day. He hadn't ever seen the girl that lay bleeding on a white tiled floor. The wound appeared to be on her head. At least that was where most of the blood had congealed. Her eyes open in death as in life. Her dark hair framed what could be called a pretty face if it wasn't for all that black colouring that ringed her eyes. The eye lids seemed to be coloured also, and how could any woman have eye lashes as long as those. The other scene had a body being flung around in a carriage of some sort. What else could it have been. This womans face was covered in her blonde hair and she appeared to be laying on some paved ground. The phantom didn't know if she was dead or not. She certainly wasn't moving. Erik had woken out of this dream to the sound of what he could only describe as an out of tune brass instrument that he heard quite frequently in his own opera house. With the disturbing dream invading his mind, it was difficult to concentrate on the work men. They seemed to be struggling through the days work. Nothing was going right, mistakes were happening. The phantom put it down to ineptitude and laziness, and mulled over the idea of creating that menacing atmosphere again. To the workmen these things happened from time to time, yesterdays ambience obviously forgotten. It would put the renovations behind schedule and that was something the phantom would not tolerate. Something has to be done...but later.

At the moment his mind was consumed by the girl. His thoughts were torn between dread and anticipation of her return. She would answer all the questions demanded from him. He wouldn't let her go until she had. Maybe he wouldn't let her go anyway. No one must find out he's still here until he decided himself. There were ways to deal with these small inconveniences. Let her be a lesson to other people who invaded his realm. The opera ghost gave the orders around here and everyone knew what occurred if he wasn't obeyed. It had been two years but people hadn't forgotten that famous disaster. Night time in box 5 Erik threw himself into the seat and glared at the stage. He had no idea how long he'd been there, the strange dream going through his mind constantly. At some point this was interrupted by a movement from the wings. Yes, it was a cloak, her cloak. The phantom grabbed the railing, knuckles whitening by his grip. With eyes glued to the stage, Erik witnessed the same scene as last time. Same dance, same pose facing him when she had finished, head bowed, same revealing attire...waiting.


	2. Chapter 2 Confrontations

Chap2..Confrontations

The opera house is alive with activity. For those readers who love to drown in music and have it consume their very existence, I have given you the name and artist of these songs. The lyrics are entirely my own. Play them while you read the chapter. I promise you won't be disappointed. I've listened to countless songs and spent hours on lyrics to provide the ultimate atmosphere for the story. The song in this chapter is 'The Voice' by Celtic Woman.

Erik swallowed thickly. For once he was at a loss for words. A few moments later the ballerina turned her back to box 5 head still bowed. Before the phantom could say anything her head came up. " Would Monsieur be more at ease with my back to you. It may be less intimidating for us both." The phantom frowned in annoyance.

"LESS INTIMIDATING, MORE AT EASE." he barked. "May I remind you it is you who have intruded on my home, it is you who should be ill at ease, as you put it, and NOBODY INTIMIDATES ME."

"My apologies Monsieur."

"How did you prise your way in here girl. Nobody comes in here. Nobody who wants to live." he commanded.

The ballerina remained silent.

"WELL." still no reply came from her. Phantom was starting to enjoy this. He revelled in putting fear into other people.

"You know, if you must practise your pathetic little dance on a stage, there are other minor theatres more worthy of your talents." purred his sarcasm. "By all means I give you full permission to break into one of those." his voice rising once again.

"Monsieur I ca..." the ballerina opened her mouth and was swiftly cut off.

The Phantoms chest was heaving in anger. How dare she suggest I'm ill at ease, intimidated.

"My advice to you my little intruder, is to answer my questions and I just may ALLOW YOU TO LEAVE UNHARMED." he thundered.

The girl once again opened her mouth to reply.

"ANSWER ME." he shouted. The girl turned abruptly to face box 5 and fixed her eyes on his.

"Monsieur if you will allow me to speak I will explain. Must my ears be subject to this constant bellowing."

Her tone had taken the phantom aback, was she not afraid of him? The ballerina was still looking towards box 5 waiting for a response when the phantom walked out from the wings onto the stage. He got great satisfaction as the girl visibly jumped in his presence.

"Oh, your here, trying to frighten me Monsieur Le Fantome." she recovered.

"Oh I think I did just that... my little trespasser."he sneered.

"Certainly not." she replied, chin up. For awhile they both glared into each others eyes. No one moved except for phantoms hands clenching into fists.

"I see I have made you quite angry Monsieur Le Fantome. I can assure that was never my intention Sir."

"How do you know who I am." he demanded.

"Every one knows there's a ghost in this opera house." the girl replied.

"That was years a..."he started.

"I'm well aware of how long it's been." she interrupted.

"DO NOT INTERRUPT YOU INSOLENT GIRL." he boomed. "How would you know about a ghost in the Paris Opera House. You're not even french. English I'd say. Does my reputation stretch across the English Channel? My my I am impressed." he stated. None of them had moved. The ballerina took a couple of steps towards him and opened her mouth to speak.

"That's far enough, you can explain from where you stand, my hearing is excellent and I presume you can hear well enough."

"Oh loud and clear Sir, crystal." her sarcasm challenged. The phantom lowered his voice dangerously.

"One last time, who are you?" The ballerina relaxed a little, but not for long.

"My name isn't important, it's the reason I'm here more so." Phantom remained silent his eyes boring into hers. She flinched a bit as he lowered his gaze, eyes devouring every detail of her poised body. Regaining her confidence she squared her shoulders forcing his eyes back to hers.

"I'm here to help you." she said.

"Help me ." he sarcastically snorted. "Oh please do go on. Do you often make it to your vocation to help out ghosts you think are in trouble? Are you any good I wonder? Oh and do you come with qualifications? You know you can't be too careful, I must know I'm receiving the best in my – education." came the venomous reply.

"Do not insult my intelligence." the ballerina spat losing her patience. "We both know you are no ghost. In fact I know exactly who and what you are, why you're here, how you got here... what you've become." she finished breathing hard. In a few swift steps he was within inches of her, his hand clenched around her throat. As he tightened his grip the girl managed to squeak out.

"I know your name is Erik." The phantoms eyes grew wide, his grip slackened as he pushed her roughly to the floor. Satisfaction surged through him to see the fear spread across her face. Gathering as much dignity as she could the ballerina picked herself up. Both standing proud facing each other.

"I see I have your attention at last now opera ghost, OG, Phantom of the Opera, Erik." she challenged.

"Get out." he growled dangerously gritting his teeth. Grabbing her wrist tightly he wrenched her to him. His breath on her face, hot with seething rage.

"You stupid, foolish girl. Do you not know the danger you're in just by being here? Who sent you mmh? Who would be such a coward to send an ignorant little nobody to spy on me." The girl tried to struggle out of his grasp but Erik held on tightening the hold, his voice like ice. "I have killed people who have just glimpsed me, let alone been this close to me."

"I know you have." she replied trying to put on a brave front.

"Then by all means, convince me why I shouldn't do the same to you. You are nothing to me but an inconvenience after all." he casually remarked.

"Because you need me. I came here to help you." she replied squeezing her eyes tight with pain.

"Yes yes, forgive me. Your help. How quickly that had slipped my mind." came the mocking reply. He released her wrist as if it had burned him. He turned from her in disgust.

"Erik please." her voice had turned urgent. "This is important." the ballerina had placed a hand on his shoulder.

The phantom whirled on her.

"DON'T EVER TOUCH ME." He roared. Pointing a menacing finger at her he continued. "I have never needed anyone in my miserable life. I don't intend to start now. I will spare you, for one reason only. To warn who ever sent you about how cheap life can be. One more intrusion will result in one less problem I'll have to suffer. DO YOU UNDERSTAND MY LITTLE TRESPASSER."

"Insult me all you want. You do need me and I am here to help." she replied with determination. Sighing she turned her back and headed for the wings.

"And help you shall receive." Donning her cloak she hurried down the corridors, Erik hot on her tail, once again evading capture. The Opera Ghost was livid.

If any good had come out of a few hours ago, it was in the form of another piece of music from the enraged phantom. It was different from the other two melodies. This had more aggression in the composition. It reflected his mood. Pouring himself another glass of wine, the phantom mused over what took place that night. A wave of unease came over him – he had nearly killed again. Last time he killed, it was for a woman. Erik wanted to believe that way of dealing with problems was in the past. Yet that familiar satisfaction created by the power he held over life and death had coursed through his entire body. That surge of control for his own survival gave his conscience the security it needed to defend his existence. How quickly his body responded to rage. With the nights events flooding back through his mind, Erik pounded the keys once again, his new composition reverberating off the cavern walls. He aptly named it 'The Reminder.'

I am the ghost who resides in your opera

I am the noise that you hear in the night

I am the shadow that lurks in your corner

I am the fear when you turn out your light

Dare to provoke me or seek my attention

Dare to invade my abode of the damned

Dare to unmask me and see my aggression

Dare to survive with your throat in my hand

Insanity thrives in entrapment and torture

Imprisoned the mind has no life of its own

Possession is mine and your choice a misfortune

Death will receive you in dungeons below

As the last echoes of the notes faded the phantom impatiently rose from the organ and flung himself into his throne. Glaring into the wood fire he did his best to calm his racing mind. If any progress was to be made of the situation a rational mind must be available, and this was not in Eriks favour at the present moment. However he forced himself to at least go over the events from a different perspective. Anger was getting him no where. Dwelling on the girl stirred his curiosity, he wanted to find out more. Mainly who sent her. Also why she was here. Like it or not, she did seem genuine with her last remark. Tonight would be her last visit. He wouldn't allow for any more distractions now he was composing again. Maybe she wouldn't be back. Who could blame her after nearly being throttled a few hours ago. Still, he did admire her persistence and boldness. His shoulder had burned when she placed her hand there – not an unpleasant feeling. Erik had felt a pang of guilt for his rough treatment and the enjoyment it had brought him. He'd remembered the fear in her beautiful eyes, and her eyes were beautiful. Blue, ringed with a darker blue still. Eyes that had flashed anger at him earlier. The way they seem to close in slow motion as she sighed before turning away, her slender form reaching for her cloak. Had he really wanted her to go, even though she bought out the worst in him. The phantom knew he must keep a level head about her. The possibility other people were involved seemed highly likely. What if that was not the case though? What was her agenda? No, this had gone on long enough. Maybe he'd find out more if he contained his bad temper a little. This would be a challenge in itself Erik mused. He remembered a time when he was more than nice and that had turned to disaster. Cursed woman. Tonight would be different. She would be expecting him to be in box five, instead the opera ghost would wait in the passages high above in the left wings. That way he could supervise the entire area where she usually appeared..and disappeared. With his plan laid out, Erik slept well, no dreams to complicate matters the next day.

The matters next day came in the form of constant banging and thumping from the work men above. Unable to concentrate, and irate OG left the lair to find out what their problem was. Erik was appalled at the state his stage was in. Wooden planks and other workers gear lay strewn all around, and as it was late afternoon, Erik knew this mess was to remain there until the next day. What happens if this interferes with the girls return Erik panicked. No, this stage would have to be cleared. Everything must be exactly as it was the first time she appeared.

Three of the workers obviously making themselves scarce to sneak in a cigarette and a quick slug of alcohol, casually looked down as a piece of paper fluttered to the floor at their feet. Glancing above revealed the vast void between floor and ceiling. Glancing at each other revealed unease between the men. With nervous foot shuffling and elbow nudging the men dared each other to pick the piece of paper up. Everyone had heard about the notes the opera ghost had delivered all those years ago, and this one also had a red wax seal in the shape of a skull. Decided by all to run for it, the men fled to the nearest exit, a small room with another door on the opposite side. The opposite side door however was locked and so was the one they'd just come through it seemed.

"Nobody leaves my notes unread." came a silky hiss. A rush of cold air stirred the dust on the floor boards. Wide eyed the men backed themselves up against a wall. All looking to find where the sound came from.

"If the note still lies, someone dies." came the silky hiss again. All focused on the door as they heard the sound of it unlocking, no one on the other side. The workmen made there way back to where the note still lay, the red seal still glaring at them. With a shaking hand one of the workers picked the note up and opened it. It was written in an elegant spidery text reading –

Greetings my good fellows,

Your work is not complete,

I must confess, my stage is a mess,

This must be cleared before nights neared,

Signed,

An opera ghost upset.

The foreman, upon finding his absent staff started shouting endless expletives with hand gesticulations. One man came forward, note held out in front as if it would bite him. The foreman snatched it away and read. The note was promptly screwed up and thrown aside.

"You are drunk and you are lazy." the foreman roared. "I've had my eye on you three the whole time we've been here. Do you think I don't notice your absences. This, this note," he said pointing to the discarded paper, "is just another way to get out of your work. I demand to know who wrote this." he fumed.

"None of us did this sir. We found it. It fell to the floor from somewhere up above." All three nodding, another dared to have his say.

"The opera ghost used to send notes sir. My mate you see used to work here when..."

"Enough of this nonsense." the foreman interrupted.

"But Sir, it came with a red skull seal." stuttered another worker.

"Silence, I repeat enough." the foreman shouted.

"There will be no more talk of this so called opera ghost. Everyone knows that pathetic story was laid to rest two years ago. He was nothing but a sordid little misfit who fancied himself to own a brain and out smart decent people. Well that didn't work did it. The public and police scared that low life away. Scuttled away with his tail between his legs he did. A worthless vagrant most like, probably living back in the squaller he crawled out of." he ranted.

"But Sir." a worker pointed out, "His face..." The foreman interrupted.

"His face was nothing more than a mask. You can't honestly believe any woman would let a creature like that live. Drowned at birth he would be. No hideous piece of flesh and bone like that deserves to thrive, have a place on this earth. Belongs in hell he does, along with all the other impure oddities. Such revulsion and disgust must be kept from the eyes of those with faith. No, he's with his own among the stench and depravity that unfortunately live in the streets of our beautiful city. Now forget all about this..note. I want every one back to work in the grand foyer."

"But Sir, the stage. The note said..." the worker asked nervously.

"No more about notes did I not say." he demanded. The workers shuffled towards the door that lead them to the foyer.

The foreman walked toward his main station, mainly a desk and a chair, a cabinet to store important papers etc. Why now, after all this time had this nonsense started up again. Did someone want to sabotage the opening of this opera house? The note had obviously been forged by someone with education. He chuckled to himself for accusing one of the workmen. The hand writing was excellent even though a bit odd. The red seal could easily be made. A skull is a skull after all. Shaking his head the foreman reached in the drawer for his half empty bottle of scotch. Taking a swig he thought about the mob two years ago. The mob he joined to hunt down the opera murderer. Of course they found no body, but someone had obviously lived there. The only thing to do was seal up the entrances to discourage other would be offenders, and it had worked up until now. Not a sign in two years until now. Yes, someone was out to put a stop to the renovations, he convinced himself, and if the renovations stopped he was out of a job and therefore a pay packet. The foreman staggered a little as he rose from his chair. Even a small amount of alcohol always affected him if he hadn't eaten. Walking to where the note was dropped, he yelled to the ceiling.

"You there you letter writing fool? You don't scare the workers you know, and you don't scare me. You can tell whoever you work for, his insipid idiotic little notes will not be tolerated. As for your so called scheme. Couldn't your intelligence come up with a new plan? This ones been tried and died you know. No bodies going to fall for a return of a so called opera ghost. No body fell for it then. He was nothing but a simpering piece of filth from the slums this city is unfortunate enough to breed." The foreman left the room with a satisfied sneer on his face. Making his way to the foyer he turned to the sound of a fluttering behind him, and before he comprehend what was happening, a rope came round his neck and tightened. As the last breath was severed in his windpipe he caught a glimpse of a large bat like creature looming over him.

The phantom centred himself above the corridors that lead to the left wings. He had a clear view of who could come and go. Now my clever little friend your games come to an end tonight. As he waited, he recalled the chaos he'd created that afternoon. Some workers had found their boss unconscious with another note placed neatly in his pocket. Same spidery hand writing warned... My orders you'll obey, or other men will lay...Upon witnessing an ugly rope burn around the foremans neck, the workers went into a frenzy to clear the stage. It was a clumsy effort, most of them bumping into each other as their eyes darted everywhere hoping not to catch a glimpse of the opera ghost who apparently had returned. Erik had intended to kill the foreman, his murderous rage ignited. Again his mind went back two years. Now twice in a night and a day, temptation had woken the monster that lay dormant not far below the surface. The brutal stinging words the man shouted, once again, found that sharp knife twisting in his heart. Uncontrollable fury mixed with swift actions, had the phantom retaliated the only way he knew how. Nothing had changed, it was the same as before. The world still consisted of the cruel and the ignorant, along with the beautiful and the pure. Realistically he'd have to let the man live though. He didn't want the place crawling with police on this night. He'd deal with the situation tomorrow. Tonight was all about that tiresome ballerina. Eriks anger from this afternoon was placated a bit as he spied Ebon on the stage. He loved his little friend dearly. Ebon meowed as he spotted his master sitting high above him.

"Go away, shoo." he whispered as loud as he dared. "You'll give me away." Erik started flapping his cape to distract the cat from the inevitable wash. Ebon ignored the comical scene taking place above him. He was used to his masters eccentricities. Time passed with no sign of his intruder. He could wait though. After all this problem had to be sorted tonight, for tomorrow he'd have to deal with the other. Erik suspected nothing would come of it though. He'd collected the two discarded notes of his so there was no evidence, and to add a touch of perfection, poured the rest of the contents of the foremans scotch over the unconscious man. Maybe the police would conclude a fight had occurred ending in the boss trying to be strangled. The phantom sat wondering how he was going to manage nice and obliging after the fiasco he'd caused a few hours ago. Not to mention near murder, twice.


	3. Chapter 3 Headway

Chap 3 Headway

"Well hello there, you are so beautiful. What's your name I wonder." Phantom jumped at her voice. He had been looking the other way, focusing on the wing aisle. Now he watched her mid stage as she rubbed Ebons ears.

"WHAT THE FFF...HOW DID YOU GET THERE." he bellowed from above. The ballerina slowly stood while Ebon sprinted off stage tail in the air. He wanted none of this.

"So, that word was around in the late 1800s, and I thought my generation had invented it." she stated, looking up with a smile. A swooshing sound of his cape had Erik standing near her. The girl knowingly looked up again watching the rope disappear above.

"I did not utter that so called word. I do not speak like that in front of women, although god knows they make you want to scream it sometimes." he said puffing.

"You know, you really must keep in better shape monsieur. I can help..." the ballerina was cut off.

"Enough with this help of yours." he said grabbing her wrist impatiently. "This ends tonight." Her eyes clouded in pain. This was the same wrist he'd grabbed the night before, now blackened and bruised. He also noted the ones forming on her neck where he had squeezed. Erik dropped her wrist and took a few steps back. Ashamed, he pointed at her arm and sheepishly asked.

"Did I do that?" he bowed his head. "I'm so sorry. I...I have this temper you see...please forgive me."

"Oh Erik." she walked towards him. His head snapped up.

"Did I give you permission to call me that?"

"Well what else should I call you. It is your name is it not." she replied.

Nice, I have to be nice, obliging, he remembered. Bruises were forming on her neck also. How easy it could have been to snap that delicate neck with his powerful hands. Horrified with that thought Erik cringed inside.

"Sometimes I can't control my reactions...I'm...I'm not used to being gentle...it's ingrained in me I'm afraid...comes with the territory...I didn't mean...I am..." Erik fumbled his apology.

"My wrist, these marks are of no importance to me." she chuckled a bit. It did cause concern in the intensive care unit I must admit." she mumbled.

"What's intensive care." Erik questioned, his head on one side, frowning. Looking up she quickly replied

"It's of no concern for you." her features softened. "It's of no importance, really." she'd have to be more careful in future.

"Please, can we have a civil conversation for once." she reached out to take his hand, then remembered he didn't like to be touched. Erik eyed that hand as it went back to her side. Would it have been so unpleasant he wondered. I must remember my reason for being here tonight and not be distracted. Obliging wasn't it? An awkward silence prevailed. He sighed.

"Speak if you must." another pause. "But I warn you, I am not one to be messed with. I did mean my threats last time." he insisted.

"I know." she said wringing her hands. "And now I'm here I don't know where to start. SHIT I had all this planned so well." she said in a small voice.

"There will be no foul language in my theatre." he stated raising his voice.

"You swore before." she retaliated.

"I did not...I stopped." came the haughty reply.

"Whatever." she huffed. Clearing this throat he asked.

"Er, would you like to sit down?"

"Well monsieur, there appear to be no chairs up here, but the edge of the stage will do just fine. If that is alright with you of course. After all it is your theatre." she rambled.

"Yes yes, the stage will do." he said impatiently. "After you." he said mockingly with a sweeping bow.

Snubbing her nose in the air the ballerina flounced toward the front of the stage and sat down, shapely legs dangling over the side. The phantom followed. "Aren't you going to sit down Monsieur?" she asked.

"I must admit the seating arrangements I prefer are a little more sophisticated." he replied still standing, hands clasped behind his back.

"First time for everything." the ballerina offered a place beside her with her hand. The Phantom eyed her annoyingly. Finally he awkwardly placed himself about six feet away.

"I don't bite." she quipped, staring him straight in the eyes. Oh my he does look handsome though. Her eyes drank in every detail of him. His mask side was facing her but that didn't matter at all. He was so majestic in his black fedora with the cape folded around him on the stage. She took in his sculptured features and those piercing green eyes, so beautiful and yet so sad.

"Can we get down to business now?" the ballerina became aware she'd been staring. Shaking her head

"I'm sorry, did you say something?" she turned pink.

"So my face is a problem for you my little intruder. It's quite common to feel fear I can assure you."

"It is not a problem and I certainly don't fear your face." she confidently replied.

"The reason you're here." he demanded.

"Yes of course." nervous laugh and hand wringing again. "This is near impossible to explain and I know you won't believe me or even comprehend what has taken place. I know I'm finding it difficult.." She said frowning. "You try my patience." came the famous reply. Unable to look at him she started.

"I have come a long way on my own will to help you...please don't interrupt." she said holding her palm up. "You need inspiration for a new opera do you not..." her palm came up once more to silence his interruption. "Nothing has come to you for two years now has it, except for a couple of melodies. Am I correct?"

"Can I speak now?" he said sarcastically. Raising his chin and glaring green orbs at her. "How come you know such things?" he asked dangerously.

"I can't tell you that...not yet" she replied giving a quick glance. Erik thought he saw tears forming.

"Go on." he growled.

"The songs you composed, they were written after you saw me. You even composed a more up tempo piece the night we argued. I must have really antagonised you. I did not intend to." she lowered her head.

"So what am I to make of all this idiotic gibberish? Are you insane enough to imply I'm somehow inspired by you?" he said incredulously.

"I know you are." she replied weakly. "And that's the problem. You don't believe – but you must believe. You need an opera and if it comes from someone who is a stranger, what does it matter. I ask of nothing in return. I must do this for you. It's imperative I do this for you...and for me." she murmured. "This is what I was sent here to do. Please I beg of you, give me a chance to prove myself." the ballerina was nearly out of breath. "I don't expect you to understand. Just trust me please." she pleaded with those blue eyes. "I don't know what else to say. I have no more words to convince you."

The phantom had intended to interrupt and end this foolishness a few times. He had no idea why he hadn't. Maybe she had struck a chord somewhere inside him. A tingle had gone up his spine when she mentioned the music he'd written. He fully remembered her floating in and out of his mind on these occasions. What could possibly be happening here? What influence could she have over him, a complete stranger?

He glanced at her to find those blue eyes still pleading.

"You realise it, don't you. I can tell..." It was the phantoms turn to hold up his palm. "Please Erik...there's more." she ventured. "I don't know how long I can be here for you. There may not be enough time." she continued.

"Time enough for what?" he asked. The phantom could not seem to tear his eyes away from her hypnotic blue ones.

"To finish you're opera." she replied earnestly searching his face. Erik remained silent. "Erik tell me you composed some music. Admit it to me. You must believe in this..." Erik threw his arms up in the air.

"How the hell am I supposed to know what I believe. You come here with this ridiculous story and expect me to comply, give into a complete stranger." the phantom had a thought. "You know, I suspect you can't even read or play music for that matter." the girl lowered her head. "Ahh, I see I am correct. WELL, answer me." his voice raising.

"No I can't." she replied softly. "But I can dance."

"And how pray tell, can a dancer inspire music. Oh and one who can't even read music." he mocked. Erik stood in disgust to leave.

"Yet you have written music. You can't deny that." she loudened her voice her face still facing the empty audience.

"Oh enlighten me my all knowing little trespasser. How did you achieve that?" he demanded dripping sarcasm. The ballerina stood gracefully and placed herself in front of the imposing figure.

"With my body." she replied matching his glare. Erik blushed.

"You brazen little hussy." he hissed. "Do you think me foolish enough to give into the charms of a harlot for the sake of an opera. An opera a whore claims she can inspire me to write." he fumed. "Or is it some sick desire on your part who gets off on bedding a ghost. Now that would make you more popular I'm sure. More money. Imagine the lies you could spin with that extra bit of information." he spat.

"How dare you. For one, let me remind you, you are not a ghost, and I find it insulting to be called a hussy or a harlot, and I certainly don't want to...to...bed you. My god do they still use those terms?" she shook her head in amazement. Wait I am in the late 1800s she had to remind herself.

"The hell you're not." voice raised once again. "Just look at how you dress. No one but a whore shows off their body with such revealing clothing. " he stated, unable to resist drinking in the vision standing in front of him.

"This is what ballerinas wear where I come from. There is nothing indecent with my attire." she retaliated. Her face hot with anger.

"You disgust me." he hissed.

"Oh I don't think I do Monsieur Opera Ghost. You think I have not seen how your eyes have raked over my body, and not as you did just now. I was aware you unashamedly memorised every detail when we first spoke. I recall having to force your eyes back to mine. You made me feel quite uncomfortable. It was extremely rude of you monsieur. I am not dressed inappropriately and I have no reason to be ashamed." she said shouting.

"Your a harlot." he roared, mindful of the truth she'd just spoken.

"And you're a hypocrite. You claim to despise whores yet your eyes still fall on my body." she hissed. The phantom brought a hand up to strike that haughty expression off her face.

"Strike me if must must, if it serves to prove your prowess." the ballerina stated with confidence she didn't feel. Eriks eyes were still blazing as he lowered his hand. The girl forced her voice to remain neutral.

"I am not here to seduce you Monsieur Le Fantome. You're too old anyway. Like I said I'm here to help... and..and... now I think I must leave." A clouded look had come into the ballerinas eyes. Erik frowned.

"Are you all right...your face has gone pale."

"Yes, I suppose it may have ." she said. Concerned, Erik forgot his rage moments before. Awkwardly he offered.

"Well can I help, can I get you anything...damn woman, I don't even know what to call you." he said exasperated.

"You have not shown any interest in wanting to know what to call me, but thank you Monsieur, I will be fine soon and you don't need to know my name." the ballerina had regained her colour.

"Ahh, but that may not be fair." he purred. "after all you know mine." he said circling around her.

"You shall not know my name. I hate my name and the person who gave it to me." she shouted taking the phantom by surprise. "Now I must go." she said turning her back on him and headed for the wings.

"Oh no you don't, not this time." he said following her. She bent to pick up her cloak.

"Odeon." she said straightening her back. The phantom was standing so close to her, she could feel the warmth of his body, the breath on her neck. She allowed herself some extra seconds to take in this delicious sensation before repeating. "Odeon... think about it." she quipped as she ran off. Erik took off after her, but the inevitable happened again. She'd vanished, slipped through his fingers again. Erik swore he could see a fine mist forming in her wake. Erik swore full stop.


	4. Chapter 4 Advancement

Chap 4 Advancement

"Odeon." Erik snorted as he made his way to the lair. Why that obnoxious little minx. Did she deliberately say that to insult his intelligence. Did she think just because he choose to shun the public that he lived in ignorance? Still he could not stop the smile cross his lips. Got a sense of humour has my little intruder. "ODEON, GREEK FOR THEATRE." he said loudly as if she could still hear him. Brazen little upstart. Maybe not the hussy though. Perhaps he'd been to quick to judge, after all he had to admit she didn't really act like one. It was her attire. Did they really wear that sort of dress where she came from. Erik found himself wondering where that was. In fact he found himself wondering about her full stop. She didn't appear to be out to endanger him, and he almost admitted to writing music when she'd asked. He'd witnessed the urgency on her face and heard the sincerity in her voice. Yet suddenly she wanted to leave, had to leave more like it. Where did she go that was so important? Erik sat at the organ and absently played a tune. He really must stick to the plan and insist how she can penetrate the building. Nothing is ever resolved though and interrogation slipped his mind as all communication between them consisted of shouts, arguments and accusations. As he continued to play, a new melody was forming. One quite different from the others. The relieved composer let his mind contemplate the ridiculous fact that she must be a ghost. Erik shook his head and smiled at the irony of that assumption. Maybe it was a knew stage trick or conjuring act he mused. For she was real all right. Flesh and bone. He'd been aware of the smooth warm skin on his hand when he grabbed her wrist. A wave of guilt washed over him as he recalled his hand at her throat, and the marks he'd left behind. Why must he lash out so quickly, but he knew the answer to that. It was his defence, his survival. Without acquiring this skill he may well have perished years ago. No, she was real enough. Yet she had a quality about her he could not fathom. Something entirely alien to him. Erik found himself wanting to know more, get closer, and he knew these thoughts were dangerous. He had wanted the touch of her hand when she pulled it away had he not. And what of those blue hypnotic eyes. They seemed to look through to his very core and to know what he's thinking. She'd captured his eyes and he found it impossible look away.

She'd been correct in his eyes roaming over her body. Had his face reddened when she accused him of that he wondered? Unfortunately Erik remembered the heat gathering on his face when ever Christine had disrobed in her dressing room. Being a gentleman in these matters, he had always averted his eyes when women undressed. The thought of being observed and exposed was a terrifying reality. The comparison of mask and clothing were one of the same. To be humiliated without your defence and shamed in front of prying eyes was a scar inflicted deep to the bone in Erik. With embarrassment he had to admit he'd devoured every part of her body when she wasn't aware. Although slender as dancers were, Odeons had the curves of a goddess. The way a woman was supposed to look, according to the many artists he'd studied. The ballet rats were so thin. Erik suspected they starved themselves. No bumps where there was supposed to be bumps. Erik felt himself redden and pushed the thoughts from his mind. Not being blessed with the love a woman had to offer, he dare not hope for a miracle to change this. Nothing so sacred could be his. His ugliness had seen to that, confirmed by Christines reaction. The pleasures of the flesh would remain at an unreachable distance, for no woman would surrender their body to some one so unpure. The devils child he was once called, and he'd found no reason to disagree. The scars and mangled flesh that was one side of his face had seeped through the whole of his body like a poison into his soul, corrupting his very being. How could the thought of love even cross his mind. Not that he didn't know how to please a woman. The far east supplied many books on the subject, plus the activity in the shadows of the wings with various stage hands, actors, ballet rats etc. gave one an excellent education. Erik then remembered her remark about him being to old. "The insulting little imp." he huffed to nobody. A smile formed on his lips at the audacity. "To old indeed." he'd said aloud. "And what would your age be my little imposter." he yelled to the ceiling of the cavern. Playful little twinkling gave the phantom an idea to use this in a dream scene for the new opera. Something a sprite could dance to, a taunting teasing melody, seducing. Maybe driving an older admirer insane with her sensual movement. Yes, this was good, my own creation, nothing what so ever to do with Odeon. Odeon she snorted again, with her idiotic idea she inspired him. Did she really expect him to believe that to be her name. Foolish child. Erik stood and began the familiar pacing. As much as he tried, her blue eyes consumed his mind. He didn't like to admit it, but she seemed to control him from her distance and Erik couldn't deny her. Seeing her again was foremost in his mind.

Odeon was aware of laying on white sheets in the room surrounded by beeping machines. An elderly lady in a head scarf was watching her anxiously. Even through closed eyes she knew she was there. A warm hand was placed on hers and she wished with all her heart she could smile at this kindly lady. " It's slow going Aunt Neve." Her mind said. "Yet he can't be blamed. I fear him a little. He has this anger that can't be controlled, yet I know he won't harm me." her aunt glanced at the bruises on her arms and throat and begged to differ. "My decision was right. I can save him. Thank you Aunt Neve. I know it's going against all better judgement. I'm aware of the danger but I am in control I promise. Now I must rest." The elderly lady gave the still hand one more squeeze before rising to her feet to leave the hospital. The doctors had been perplexed and concern by the marks on her nieces body. What would happen if they stepped up their enquiries? What conclusion would be made? Aunt Neve feared more than the police asking questions. There were her own people out there who would condemn her actions, punishments executed, banishments put forth.

The opera house was surprisingly quiet the next morning. A deliberate hush filled the building as the workmen went about their jobs. Ah, this is how it should be thought Erik. Less talk more work. He did wonder about the lack of police though. Making his way through the hidden passages, he managed to piece together the reason for the unusual intensity performed by the workers that day. Apparently the foreman had made his way to the police where no one had taken him seriously. As Erik suspected, they thought an argument had erupted during a drinking binge between both workers and foreman. The smell of alcohol was on all the men, and as much as both parties had insisted, no notes were found As for the rope, well there was rope everywhere to be found on the premises. The phantom had avoided more intrusion quite nicely. Now there was more time for composing. Feeling good about his new found genius, Erik could concentrate on tonights visit, surprised he was looking forward to it. He even decided to wait on stage and damn finding out how she'd arrive. Erik made up his mind not to lose his temper tonight. The questions could wait. A special effort was made with his attire, but then he had always made a special effort, even if there was no one around to impress. Was it to make up for the condition his face was in. Probably, and as usual reality seeped in, poisoning whatever good thought that rarely crossed his mind. His face was like an unhealing infectious disease, a constant reminder, a warning to the limits he had in this life. There was no point how neat and extravagantly he dressed. His face would always be his downfall. This sudden mood swing had him staring in the mirror, watching the trail of tears slide over one cheek and disappear behind his mask on the other. Soon both sides of his jaw line bore the resemblance of a slow leaking pipe. A familiar shot of pain went through his heart and travelled down to his stomach. This reality jolt was like a physical blow that had not lessened in time. It was like an abscess eating away at his insides, ensuring he had an eternal source of bitterness alerting Erik of how futile any efforts of benevolence would be received.. The eternal gnawing was afire now, confining him to his minute place in the world. Ebon rubbed himself against the phantoms legs. He could sense his masters despair, it happened so often. Erik picked up the shiny bundle and buried his face in the thick fur. Nothing was said, the only sound was heart wrenching sobs of a lonely opera ghost.

So nightfall found a despondent phantom sitting on the edge of the stage..waiting. Odeon watched as he sat there and knew a change had come over her – dare she call him – student. As silently as she could she walked towards the man staring into the empty audience.

"Good evening...Odeon." he said with no sarcasm implicated.

"Well this has to be a step in the right direction. I'm pleased. You can sense me without seeing me. Maybe we can have a connection here after all." she tried to lighten his mood but failed it seemed. Erik sighed.

"Would you like to sit down." Odeon eyed him waiting for some insult. When none came she walked the rest of the way and sat down about six feet away. The phantom took in the grace of her body lowering itself to the floor. Tearing his eyes away he stated.

"I don't bite." With a smile Odeon shuffled to him. His closeness was intoxicating.

"I must admit I'm impressed by your choice of name. Very clever indeed my little intruder."

"A spur of the moment thought. I expected you to be angry with me." she said quietly.

"I suppose I must have been for awhile, but now it is of no importance. If you prefer to be called after a greek theatre, who am I to object. Do you hate your real name that much?" he asked.

"Yes." she insisted. Odeon softened her voice.

"Erik, forgive me, but you don't seem yourself. Has something happened."

"You mean why aren't I yelling at you, or bruising you arms., hurling insults." he said with a little smile.

"Something like that I suppose." she smiled back. Taking a deep breath Odeon continued.

"Erik, I don't think I can stay long tonight. It may be a short visit. I suspect this will please you." she finished, not meeting his gaze. Erik opened his mouth to state the opposite but thought better of it. He didn't know how to apply the words. With disappointment setting in all he asked .

"Why." "

Something is going on in intensive care or rather in my hea...she didn't finish. Erik raised his bowed head

"Yes, this intensive care, you never fully explained."

"No, I guess I didn't." Odeon swallowed and cursed herself for her slip up.

"It...It's a special place in a hospital for people who are very ill – needing intensive care."

Erik turned to look into her blue eyes. "I have not heard of such a thing. Where is this hospital." he asked. "Still, I solves a bit of your mystery. You must be a nurse as well as a ballerina." Odeon could not turn her eyes away.

"No, not a nurse, just a ballerina, or I was." she ventured, looking down, wondering if she'd said too much.

"Then tell me, explain to me Odeon." he pleaded. "Trust me Odeon please." Returning his gaze she meekly asked.

"Does this mean you're not angry with my intrusion any more. Are you saying, you accept me at last?"

"Yes, I suppose I am." he whispered a little surprised at his conclusion. Tears formed in Odeons eyes.

"You don't know how much that pleases me. Erik, you must understand how much I want to tell you all. It's just so bizarre. I can't believe it myself sometimes." her voice trailed off.

"If It helps, I'm very much used to bizarre." he smiled. She tore her eyes away.

"Odeon, what has made you so sad." he asked. Erik bravely raised a shaking hand to her cheek to wipe away a tear. Would she flinch at his touch he wondered. Eriks thought was answered when she raised her own shaking hand and gently placed it in his. A lump formed in his throat as he closed his eyes drinking in the warm sensation of her touch.

"I..I'm...sorry I shouldn't done that, forgive me. I keep forgetting you don't like being touched." Eriks eyes flew open, his hand growing cold in the absence of her heat. He was about to protest when she continued.

"Erik, I must go and I don't know when I can return." she said tears finally making their way down her face.

"Odeon...?" Erik questioned.

"Erik, I'm going to trust you with something now...it will raise a lot of questions, and I'll explain all I can next time we're together. I promise." she said. Erik was speechless. She trusted him. No body had trusted him before. How could she possibly trust him after how he'd treated her. Desperately he wanted her to stay.

"Stay." he managed to choke out. Erik grabbed her arm, gently this time. Odeon stood up wiping away her tears.

"Oh, why tonight of all nights." Taking a few steps back Eriks hand fell to his side. She beckoned him to stand.

"Erik, look at me …..." Odeon walked to centre stage.

"Are you returning to this intensive care hospital." his eyes held hers hoping she wouldn't see the tears forming.

"I must Erik, but I want you to see something first, no questions now. I'm trusting you, I feel I owe some explanation. Just bear with me for now, please...just watch" A fine mist was forming around his new enigmatic friend. Silver sparkles formed over her body and twinkled like the night sky. Each twinkle had Odeons body disappear gradually with the mist evaporating in her wake. Erik ran to the spot where she'd disappeared desperate for some lingering contact, but there was nothing to show she'd ever been in the Paris Opera House. Frantically the phantom paced around the floor and shouted to the empty air. "You never told me where this hospital was...ODEON. ODEON CAN YOU HEAR ME?" he cried breaking down. The Phantom fell to his knees on the stage floor, and through heaving sobs, an ethereal voice of his little intruder floated through the empty opera house..."london"


	5. Chapter 5 Fear

Chap 5 Fear

This chapters song is from broadways Dr Jekyle and Mr Hyde...A Dangerous Game. Lyrics are my own.

Odeon cried softly into her still body. Oh Aunt Neve, you did warn me. I crossed that line. I let it happen. I couldn't stop. Didn't want to stop. What will happen now? Aunt Neve sighed. She knew what had eventuated. All the warnings fallen on deaf ears. The importance of being aloof, detached, all thrown to the wind in a few short visits. Aunt Neve gave the hand a squeeze of acknowledgement before raising up on tired legs to walk the short distance to the small home she'd once shared with her only niece. Her brain waves had been so erratic today she hadn't wanted her to travel, but as usual her nieces insistence and promises for a short visit only, made her relent. She had no idea when she could travel again if ever. It was against her better judgement to start this in the first place, but her ballerina niece had been adamant. If her Aunt Neve wouldn't help, she'd find someone who would...someone with less qualifications and far less wisdom. Others dabbling in these matters could have dangerous consequences. What choice did she have.

The phantom sat at the organ at some late or early hour. He had no idea how long he'd sobbed his heart out on the stage. Yet Erik had picked himself up and made his way down to the lair. The loneliness and despondency of that earlier part of the night far outweighed the mystery of Odeon vanishing. More surprisingly still a new song was composed, his best one so far. It made Erik still feel connected to her in some way, just writing about her. Tonight, everything was about Odeon and deep in his conscience, Erik didn't want to admit, the words he wanted to follow on the last line of the chorus. What he was forced to conclude though, she was responsible for the first beautiful bit of music he'd composed in years. He decided to name the song after that last unfinished line.

Odeon opens my dark enclosures

Her shadow glimmers as she comes into my night

Her dance awakes inflames my senses

I contemplate what she'll bring to my life

Is her shadow a dream

Is her presence a lie

What will she reveal in time

Her intentions are real

Her enchantment impels

With my passion now overwhelmed.

Do I let her inside

With obsession afire

To confess or deny

What will happen if I...

My restless memories invade each moment

Tormented choices that were made long ago

But now a new change is placed before me

So undeserving every part of me knows

Will she sense in her soul

Does she dare to believe at all

Will she fear what she sees

Could we ever survive

What would Odeon feel in time

Do I let her inside

My obsessions afire

To confess or deny

What would happen if I...

With this new song written the rest of the hours were filled with Odeons disappearance and her words to him. She trusted him. What joy filled his heart to hear her words. What fire burned when she touched his hand. Christines hand had felt like that, and Christine had fled from his presence. Now was not the time to bring her back and rake up all that pain again, and if he thought hard enough, it would be brought back. So what was happening with Odeon? Vowing never to walk down that track again, how was he going to contain unwelcoming, but not unpleasant feelings she stirred. Erik was aware of the unnerving sensation in the pit of his stomach. When was she going to appear again? She herself said she did not know. How long was this torturous wait going to last, and what was the reason behind this time limit she spoke of? Surely he couldn't lose her now. The last encounter had been so amicable, he couldn't bare to sink once more into loneliness, not after finding friendship again, however elusive it may be. Erik went over the words of the new song. 'What would happen if I...'

"If I what." he said aloud. Dear God he was afraid for the second time in his life. With a sigh he stood and walked to the extensive library collection, books he'd collected over his lifetime on every subject he could get his hands on. What category to put Odeon in was proving difficult. It seemed there was no choice but to head for the occult section, no other explanation would suffice. The idea that some sort of after life existed was mentioned in many books he had acquired. The puzzle that remained, she was flesh and blood. Not being able to reach a conclusion on the theory, he still read them out of curiosity. After all it was knowledge, and knowledge was power, all stored in that insatiable desire for education, the geniuses brain acting like a sponge, but without proof the after life remained a mystery. The people claiming to be mediums, etc would most likely turn out to be charlatans, some may be genuine. He suspected the authors sensationalised them purely for the benefit of book sales. Yet he kept an open mind and was aware of many strange and unexplained phenomena still to be researched. How would one go about researching a human body dissolving into thin air he mused? Obviously the sparkling mist also played a big part in the mechanics displayed in front of him that night. Could the brain somehow produce and emit particles in the form of this mist, making one appear and disappear. Smiling to himself he wondered if he, and his ilk, hadn't inadvertently contributed to the mysteries of the bizarre. He certainly fooled a lot of people in his life time with conjuring acts, disappearing acts, ventriloquism, all of which would be hard to explain the ordinary citizen. Claims of other worldly interference, the devil, witchcraft would be the only choice to be had, and Odeon didn't quiet fit the image Erik had of evil. Another explanation came to mind, far fetched as it was. Erik scoured the religious section next, finding writings of a phenomenon called astral travel in many sacred texts. Thoroughly absorbed, he went onto other subjects known as time travel, many references found in mythology and written about by authors of fiction. Logic told him the idea was too fantastic, some one existing in one place while capable of visiting another. He had heard her say London and she did speak in an English accent. This didn't necessarily mean she was something supernatural. She may simply be an English girl visiting Paris. If that be the case, why not just use the front door as the entry and exit, not an array of misty stars. He recalled the night she hadn't appeared. Phantom was certain he'd seem a light mist forming, and Ebon had sensed it also. Was this some attempt at appearing that had failed? He remembered to, Odeon had been adamant he witness her departure. Was this a way of slowly introducing him to her world, where ever that existed? If all this was possible, why him he thought. Why had she chosen the phantom of the opera as her priority? What was he letting himself become involved in.? Selecting more books Erik placed himself in front of the fire. It was a few hours till night fall where he'd be impatiently pacing the stage floor, hoping his inspiration could manage to appear.

Meanwhile a figure dressed in black made its way down the familiar dark corridors. It had been awhile, a month, maybe more. Approaching the wide mouth of the underground cavern, the figure always paused to detect any noise from within indicating which room the phantom may be occupying. Without making a sound the figure passed the underground lake and climbed the few steps that lead to his lair.

"Madame Giry, welcome." the voice made her start. Holding her hand to her chest she chastised.

"Erik, must you, you frightened me half to death."

"Indeed I did Madame. It is my job. I'm glad I haven't lost my touch." Phantom was sitting by the fire on his throne reading. He was yet to look up.

"Don't be flippant Erik. How did you know I was there." Slamming the book shut the casual answer simply stated.

"My dear Madame, I heard the lock on the booby trap I warned you about. Besides you're the only one who knows the way now."

"Someone could accidentally find it again...like before." she replied.

"Oh I doubt it. One learns from ones mistakes you know."

"Hmm, I wonder." came the doubtful reply.

"Madame, yee of little faith. Now what brings you to my abode of the damned." he said cheerily bouncing out of the throne.

"You know I don't think of you and this place like that." she said annoyed. "Well." she continued. "I though it was about time, and I was curious. Erik are you all right?"

"All right, all right. Of course I'm all right. Why do you ask.?" he looked surprised. "And what has sparked your curiosity pray tell?"

"Right at this moment it is your, how should I put it, your sparkling demeanour. Last night I thought I heard you playing the organ." she answered suspiciously.

"My dear Madame Giry, can't a ghost be happy for once." he inquired raising an eyebrow.

"Depends on the cause. What have you been up to Erik?"

"Madame you have a suspicious nature, but you're right, I have been playing." he beamed. "Come over here, you must hear this. It's the best I've come up with for years." an excited phantom scurried over to his organ and sat down. The slow beginning of the first two lines where enough to realise what a masterpiece this would be, and she was not disappointed. Erik started to play what he now named 'What Would Happen If I'

"Erik, how did you...where did this...this is astounding." she stated incredulously looking at the sheet of music.

"I know, and Madame, I have more, this one is a little different..." Her head snapped up.

"Who, or what is Odeon?" eyes drawn together suspiciously again. Erik squirmed on his seat. "Erik, these words, pardon me if I'm incorrect, would be words sung at the beginning of a romantic relationship. Ah please Erik, not again." he didn't answer.

"WHY NOT." he shouted fists coming down on the poor organ keys, standing the seat flew back from under him.

"Erik, don't shout at me. You know very well your tantrums don't affect me."

"Why not." he repeated more softly. "Why can't I have just a little of what normal people have?"

"You know why." she said softly herself. Madame Girys heart went out to him. "Who is she?"

"She's a baller dancer." Erik realised the mistake he'd made.

"Not in my school she isn't. No one with a ridiculous name like that would participate in my teachings. Or is it one of your hallmark stamps you like to inflict on innocent girls? Christine was greatly affected by you calling her Angle, you must realise that." she insisted.

"Do not speak of her Madame Giry. I will not have her name mentioned, do you understand. You know, you are the only person who can get away with that sort of accusation. Others would be..."

"Yes, dead by now." she finished for him. Erik was the first to bow down.

"She's not from you school, you don't know her." he relented

"Then I shall find out which ballet school she's from and warn her." she retaliated. Madame Giry had another thought and her face dropped. "Oh Erik, tell me you haven't got her here." she pleaded.

"Of course I haven't got her here. Search if you must." he said waving his arms to search as she pleased.

"You think me a fool. I would never find her if you didn't want her found." her chest was heaving in anger. "You may have got away with this once, but not again. Do you understand, they will come after you and I won't be able to help this time."

Erik walked away from the organ to the edge of the lake and looked across into the darkness.

"Madame Giry, I can assure you...I promise you... she is not here. I do not have her caged in some secret room or where ever it is you think I hold people captive." he sighed.

"I'm still going to find out which school she's from and I will warn her Erik, I won't let another Chris..."

Erik whirled around.

"Good, find her if you must, if you think it your legal duty to protect the innocent. If it will boost you ego to have saved a would be victim from the devil incarnate." he hurled at her. "Find her." he continued "Then tell me, I'd be curious to know. What little she's told me." his voice quietened. " She's different, I can't explain it. She doesn't seem one of us. The only clue she left was..." Erik looked uncomfortable and placed his hands in his pockets. Looking sideways at an angry ballet mistress he hesitated as he repeated the last thing he heard her say. "London."

"LONDON." she said exasperated. "Not one of us. What does that mean? What ridiculous game is this? What are you involved in now Erik?" she insisted.

With another sigh Erik walked back towards his friend remembering those same words going through his mind earlier. As he came closer he admitted. "My dear, I have no idea. No idea what so ever. Good evening Madame. You know the way out."


	6. Chapter 6 Temperament

Chap 6 Temperament

The next three days had Erik experienced an assortment of mood swings. The nights were plagued with incomprehensible dreams filled with confusion and despair. On waking he was covered in sweat, the sheets tangled from relentless tossing, and headaches from interrupted sleep. Maybe he should reduce the wine intake, even if it did supply the calming affect he needed. Partaking in cigars he wasn't used to didn't improve matters either. The nights without Odeons appearance affected him more than he'd like to admit. Erik took himself to the opera rooftop. At nights, this was his favourite pass time, the peace and quiet surrounding him was excellent for a lot of soul searching. He compared the roof to being between two worlds. The lights below and above gave the sensation of one being in limbo. In this place, no cruelty, hate or prejudice existed. In this place you just lived, accepted by whoever or whatever survived around you. The ambience of the roof top had given Erik much needed inspiration at times, the stars acted like small electrical currents sent to awaken a tired brain. There was a lot to said for this new electricity. This night however, the stars reminded him of Odeon dissolving with each pin prick of light. Going over the research he had available still shed no insight as to how she vanished. The dreams had left him with a hung over fuzziness that only added to the mystery. Erik realised the odd dream had occurred after Odeons appearance and wondered if that was all coincidence. He recalled the dark haired girl with all that stuff on her eyes and concluded she may have been an actress of the stage. The phantom was also tempted to take Madame Girys threat seriously to find Odeon in other ballet schools, but then remembered this was not her real name. Anything to do with the subject of Odeon left him running into brick walls.

"Ah, my Odeon, where are you?" he asked the night sky. His Odeon. Yes she was his Odeon and Erik took great comfort in admitting this at last. She was his inspiration and was responsible for the phantom feeling alive once more. He felt at a loss without her. Leaving the roof top Erik made his way down to box 5 to wait, just in case. A terrifying thought rippled through his body making his insides tremble. What if he'd missed her? Erik felt dizzy panicking at the thought.

"Odeon please..." he whispered fighting back tears that threatened to fall. He gripped the rail of the balcony.

"Odeon can you hear me, please don't leave me...I..I need you." Erik begged louder. Sitting he placed his chin on his hands eyes never leaving the stage.

"I miss you...I miss you." he sobbed.

The phantom woke to hear voices echoing around him. Feeling cramped and not in his familiar surroundings he leapt to his feet on guard for any attack assailed at him. Box 5 appeared different in the morning. Calming his racing heart he quickly slipped into the hollow pillar as the workmen filled the building. After soaking in a hot bath and putting something nourishing in his belly, Erik sat at the organ, doing his best to keep his mind on composing. That had been a narrow escape at box 5, he really must be more careful in the future. As the day wore on, when frustration and boredom set in, the usual outcome was anger. The cavern floor was strewn with crumpled up sheets of paper and an ink pot had been hurled across the room smashing on the opposite wall. Realising he was out of his expensive wine and cigars didn't help the situation either. He must leave a note for Halyon. Erik had come across Halyon possibly five years ago. The poor child, begging for food in the streets of Paris tugged at his heartstrings, more so when the phantom realised the young boy was crippled. People avoided him like the plague, bringing back many unwanted memories. After much persuasion Erik had won the trust of the child. Learning about Halyons background, several siblings and no father, the phantom of the opera had taken the waif under his wing. He was generous in payment for various errands and never once did Halyon ask what was under the mask. Erik was the nearest thing he had to a father and trusted him completely. He'd die before betraying the only man to show him compassion. This enigmatic father figure had even constructed a stick that went under his arm to help him in his daily travels, strong, sturdy and beautifully varnished. Payment for these daily travels had put food on the table for his siblings and his mother. Halyon had no idea who this kindly man was. His only instructions were to check the small hidden alcove in the disused section of the opera house around midday. On removing a rock the alcove opened into a larger area. The kindly man in the white mask had shown him the special way to manoeuvre the rock for its release. A note usually awaited him to purchase goods from around the markets, and if nothing was required for some days, payment was still placed in that small alcove. One other condition was for the boy to promise to let the kindly man know of any illness in his household. Remedies were readily available with strict instructions on how much was to be taken or applied. The streetwise lad had ways of eluding any would be followers and asked no questions.

The afternoon witnessed a brooding, impatient phantom doing his best to get ink stains of a tapestry that had been splashed a few hours earlier. The crumpled paper had been cleared and sat in a pile out of sight, and Halyon had delivered the order for the day. With a new supply of music sheets and ink, Erik sat at the organ to start composing afresh with a more positive attitude. He dearly wanted to tell Odeon of more successful compositions in the making, and that yes, she was his inspiration. Admitting the extraordinary roll she was playing in his life, replaced the arrogant stubborn way his mind usually worked, at least for the time being. The change was most welcoming.

When Odeon didn't return again that night, Erik was frantic with concern. Irrational thoughts raced through his mind. Was she ill, in danger, or had she lost interest? All options had Erik almost insane with worry. His hands trembled so much it was near impossible to raise the wine glass, and drinking more than usual he knew there would be consequences in the morning. Attempts at sleep proved unsuccessful, but when a few moments of slumber over came him they were full of odd dreams again. Those beeping box like machines with lights had returned. This time however, an elderly woman with a black scarf tied under her chin was sitting near by. Erik was jolted out of his dream when the woman turned her head and fixed familiar blue eyes onto his. Swinging his legs off the bed he stood up, his body swaying, his head starting to throb. Where had he seen those eyes before? Their intensity had bore right through his. A message was being sent. There was no uncertainty about that type of angry accusing penetration. Unfortunately a hung over mind left him incapable of placing her with any one he'd come across in life. Still he could not shake the feeling the woman represented something of great importance. Spending the day in his library, Erik did his best to make sense out of 'beeping machines.' Tome after tome was scoured and all proved useless. Ebon placed himself near the fire, his master asleep on his throne, a large book lay open at his feet. What bliss, the rest of the day would be uneventful. He could sleep easy for now, having shared the restless night with his master.

That night, Erik almost collapsed with relief as Odeons mist appeared. He was on waiting on stage for her arrival, taking no chances of missing her. He watched in awe as her body form appeared, in reversal of her disappearing. Trying to keep his emotions in check, he was none the less by her side in seconds. Reaching out to take both her hands he hesitated. With a worried look he asked,

"Is it all right to touch you?" Odeon smiled up at him.

"Yes Erik, I won't disintegrate." Odeon hadn't expected this response and sighed with delight.

"You don't mind me touching you now." she inquired. Erik bowed his head.

"Forgive me Odeon, I was foolish. I've had three days to think about things."

"And what conclusion did you come to?" she asked curiously. Still holding her hands, he replied.

"I missed you." He slowly raised his eyes to look into hers.

"I missed you." he repeated. Odeons smile was catching. It made Erik smile also, if not awkwardly.

"I suppose I have some explaining to do."

"Well, I have tried to read up some sort of explanation, but I'm afraid you are as much a mystery as the first time we met." he admitted.

"I don't how much is written during your time. My time has much more information and people are more open minded to these matters." Erik looked at her perplexed.

"My dear Odeon, I have absolutely no idea of what you speak."

"No." was all Odeon replied. "Were you not afraid?" Erik abruptly dropped her hands.

"Afraid...afr...Woman need I remind you of who I am." Erik raised a haughty chin.

"Yes, yes. I did not intend to insult your status. Erik, you and your damned pride."

"I can assure you fear never crossed my mind. HAS, never crossed my mind in a very long time." he replied arms folded across his chest. Odeon had to smile at his reply that came to quickly. Both standing stubbornly facing each other.

"Now tell me, did I, or did I not hear you correctly the last time you...vanished. Let me see, what was it now. Oh yes, I believe I asked where this...Hospital was." Erik slowly circled her. Odeon squirmed. "Ah, I see my little intruder has developed a slight memory lapse." dripped the sarcasm. "Pray tell me, how do you manage to be a dancer... so many steps to remember...the endless counting...your arms coordinating with your feet...why, the whole things in french...and you develop amnesia...my my what an unfortunate outcome."

"Erik stop being sarcastic." she huffed. "It doesn't become you."

"Of course it becomes me. It's what I am, It's my very essence. It's what people expect. Oh, I'm no good without sarcasm I can assure you...and I'm no good if I don't get my own way. EXPLAIN WOMAN." he barked. Odeon felt uneasy, she opened her mouth but nothing came out. Erik grabbed her shoulders shaking her like a ray doll. He placed his mouth near her ear, hot breath rolling down her neck. Odeon shivered.

"Tell me you said London." came a silky request. Odeon could have easily have melted into his nearness. Just a slight turn of her head would have placed her lips ever so close to his cheek. She wondered what it would have been like to place a small feathery kiss...

"Odeon." giving her a gentler shake. "Answer me."

"Yes Erik. You heard London, and I'm sorry. I shouldn't have left you with that... I should have waited till I could

explain fully. I don't know what made me answer you. It was just a reaction. You asked, I answered. It was out before I realised and then it was too late." she rambled.

"Odeon, I've warned you, I don't tolerate games. I tolerate lies even less." grabbing her shoulders once again, he hissed in her ear. "Tell me you didn't lie to me."

This time Odeon did turn her face, her breath warm on his cheek. She felt him shiver, his hands loosened their grip

"No lies, no games."

They stood like that for a few seconds. Their breathing in sync with each others. Erik dropped his hands and placed them in his pockets. He did not want to lose the warmth from her skin. Clearing his throat he asked.

"How long can you be here...tonight?"

"For longer than the other nights I think, I hope." Odeon wrapped her cloak around her body. It had grown cold when the phantom had stepped away.

"Then we must begin, you have some explaining my little intruder. Well..." said Erik raising an eyebrow. Odeon started her nervous fidgeting.

"Erik, can I ask you a favour?" He eyed her suspiciously.

"Am I going to regret this?"

"Can we please go to your lair?"

.


	7. Chapter 7 The Beginning

Chap 7 The Beginning

This chapter has the music from Enigma. Dancing With Mephisto. This represents 'The Journey' same as POTO. This music has only a small amount of lyrics – all my own.

Follow down

Hollow ground descend

Infinity eternity

Come embrace, follow fate and taste

The invite to insight.

Odeons descent into the catacombs was filled with awe and intrigue. The journey had her touching floor and walls and asking endless questions. Odeon wanted to know everything. How the lanterns worked when they approached them, how the booby traps were set off, how the phantom had built them even. If Erik grew tired of this unending chatter he didn't show it. At times the lantern caught his features, his face full of pride and amusement. His little intruder was obviously impressed. No words could describe his reaction upon hearing her request. For seconds words failed him, Erik was astounded No one could want to travel through cold damp tunnels to see an even colder cavern. Why would anybody willingly want to descend into the bowls of the opera house. Hadn't she heard the rumours the phantoms lair was hell itself, that he was called the devils child? When he hesitated in making up his mind he was met with pleadings and promises. Odeon had even grabbed his arm and started to drag him off in the first direction she faced.

"Odeon, it's no place worthy of visitors. It's cold, damp..." he fumbled his words.

"Monsieur Le Phantom. I presume you know what fire is and I'm guessing you keep one constantly burning. So that solves all the problems, does it not. Besides, it's your home." Erik raised his eyebrows.

"I want to visit your home. Is that so bad?" Odeon rambled on in her excitement. She could see he was relenting.

"If it's a mess, it doesn't really matter. You should see my ro..."

"Odeon, my home is not a mess, as you put it...not now anyway." he added. "You should have seen it yesterday." He muttered. Odeon grinned.

"I can see I won't have any peace if I say no, will I?"

"None what so ever." she replied. With a hint of a smile Erik took hold of the hand clamped around his arm and held it in his.

"Well then my dear, let us proceed." Erik dragged Odeon off in the complete opposite direction she'd taken.

"Don't let go of my hand. The passage can be quite dangerous if you don't know the way." He would have to hold her hand the entire time – for safety reasons of course. If Odeon was afraid she showed no sign. Once he asked if she would like to rest and was answered by a defiant huff. Odeon never felt more alive, her heart was hammering against her ribs. Watching that powerful figure in the black cape guiding her had Odeon hypnotised. Could he really do that she wondered? His very presence was overwhelming, emanating assurance, power security. Odeon had never felt safer in her life. At times she'd accidentally bump into the phantoms muscular form when he suddenly stopped. This was met with apologies and strong arms supporting her from stumbling.

"We're nearly there, you won't have to endure this much longer." he reassured her.

"I would endure twice the distance." can a swift reply. Erik gazed at her with admiration and gave her warm hand a squeeze.

"I've never met anyone like you." he stated with sincerity.

"There will be no doubt of it once I've explained every thing." she sighed. Odeon felt a shiver go through her. Before Erik could stop himself he placed a hand under her chin and lifted her face to look into those blue orbs.

"There is nothing you could tell me to change my mind." he whispered. Erik swallowed the lump forming in his throat. Breaking the atmosphere he continued.

"I will have to help you here. The passage narrows and there's a bit of a ledge to jump from." The phantom pushed himself through a small gap and lowered himself down. Hanging the lantern he gestured for Odeon to follow. Dear God he was handsome. The glow from the lantern fell on his features, piercing green eyes never leaving hers. Phantoms hands shook as he gently placed them around her waist. Odeons hands went to his broad shoulders as he effortlessly lifted her off the ledge. Odeons knees were no better as they gave out when her feet felt the cavern floor. Catching her Erik brought her body against his. Would she feel the hammering of his heart he wondered? Embarrassed, he made light of the situation.

"My my little ballerina, you sure have a sloppy way of landing on you feet. I strongly recommend more practise my little intruder."

"Yes, you have mentioned my lack of dancing skills when we first met if I remember correctly." Odeon felt her face redden at her stumble. It was the first response that came to mind, and it had to be spiteful. She didn't trust her words and voice while his hands still encircled her waist. He must never know how his nearness affected her very being. How easy it would be to melt into that strong secure body that held her. His masculine scent intoxicated her. Breathing in a mixture of cigars, the fine linen of his suit and the natural warm musk of his body, almost made her swoon. How easy it would be to give into these desires that stirred in the pit of her stomach and other parts of her body. Oh Erik how dangerous you are to me. If only you knew the risks.

"Odeon, I didn't mean that. I was being..."

"Sarcastic." she finished.

"Yes, one of my trademarks, remember." Erik felt awful being reminded of his comment that night. Odeon shook herself off him. She loathe to leave his warm body, but was as stubborn as he was.

"Lead on." she gave a mock bow.

"I knew we couldn't get through a night without arguing." he hissed impatiently.

Odeons first sight of the lair was a golden glow in the distance. Walking closer the glow reflected off the lake sending golden ripples dancing across the surface.

"The lake. Of course. Erik, how come we didn't use the lake?" Odeon had forgotten their tiff of moments before. She ran to the edge and dipped her hand in.

"Every home has more than one entrance Odeon. Safety reasons I believe, and no one has more reasons to be aware of danger than myself. How did you know of the lake?" he stated.

"Oh it's so cold." she snatched her hand out. Erik snorted.

"Of course it's cold woman. It's an underground lake, and I wouldn't go sticking my hand in. You never know what swims these waters."

"You could have warned me sooner." she accused, eyeing the water.

"You're still alive and in one piece are you not." he said casually. "Odeon can we not argue?" She dried her hand on her cloak and walked toward him. To get the point across, smiling, she grabbed his hand in both her own dragging him in the direction of the light.

"All right, I'm impressed by this enthusiasm, but slow down. This floor is uneven. There are rocks..."

They rounded a corner, this time Erik bumping into her.

"Oh Erik" she exclaimed. Both hands flew to her face. "I can't...words fail me...It's beautiful...so beautiful" she breathed. Erik had mixed feelings on bringing her here in the first place, and worried what her reaction would be.

He was not prepared for this however. Her intense blue eyes shone with tears when she turned to him.

"So lovely...Oh Erik, I'm speechless." Ignoring all warnings Erik walked over to where was standing and took her hands from her shocked face. The first instinct was to bring them to his lips and he stopped himself in time. God he didn't want mess things up again and frighten her away.

"Odeon, I'm the one who's speechless. This is just a cavern. No sun light, no fresh air, cold. How can you think it beautiful?" Because you made it what it is, she wanted to reply. It is full of you, and you are so close. Would just one light kiss matter. She swallowed and regretfully stepped away from him to take in the sight before her.

"How could one not. Erik it's breathtaking. I've never seen so many candles. What a wonderful ambience they create." You are the wonderful ambience Erik thought. He cleared his throat. Odeon turned in slow circles drinking in every object in sight.

"This cavern, even the journey down. It's like...like time stands still. It could almost be eternity. Unending existence. It's exactly as I saw it...only better. One could survive here for eternity, turn ones back on the atrocities above." Erik was surprise and confused. Here he was, with no alternative but to live here, wishing to exist above. Odeon on the other hand the opposite. What did she mean, exactly as she saw it?

"Well then, I am most flattered my dear. I can see I shall have no choice but to show you the rest. But first come and warm yourself by the fire." Erik was nervous, he wasn't used to entertaining. Taking her into the throne room Odeons jaw dropped at the elaborate hearth, and the plush leather lounge. At a loss for what was to come next Erik removed his fedora, cape and suit jacket throwing them on the beautiful wood carved throne. His new visitor had taken in his every move, eyes never leaving him. Erik squirmed wandering if he'd done the right thing.

"Uh, Odeon, you all right?" why does this have to be so awkward he thought. Odeon jumped.

"Yes...I'm fine. More than fine." she mumbled, lowering her eyes.

"Come by the fire. Let me take your cloak. You'll have no need for it here." Odeon removed her headpiece her blonde hair falling down her back. She was about to shrug off the cloak when she abruptly stopped.

"No Monsieur, I prefer to keep it on, thank you." she wrapped the cloak tightly around her body.

"Is something wrong Odeon?" he asked uneasily. Damn woman, he couldn't read minds.

"Yes there would appear to be. I wish to be remain covered so as not to offend you eyes." she stubbornly stated raising a proud head.

"Offend my eyes. Odeon, you could never offend my eyes. What on earth are you speaking of." he asked exasperated.

"Do you not recall our discussion of my attire. You made comparisons of my clothing as to what a whore would wear I seem to remember. You called me a hussy and said I was indecent. It was quite insulting of you."

"Don't you come over all haughty with me my little intruder. You are a guest in my home. I trust you can act like one." his temper flared.

"Never the less I shall keep it on, and I trust you will act the perfect host?" she retorted.

"Ahhh, keep the damned thing on if it reassures your modesty. It never bothered you before. Despite of what you think of me, I have no interest in your body." Eriks voice was raising. Odeon still had her nose in the air.

"SIT DOWN." he ordered.

"I knew this would be a mistake." he muttered.

"Pardon me." Odeon huffed.

"Would you like a glass of wine." Erik forced himself to be pleasant. A frown had come over Odeons face."

"I used to drink once...I don't any more." her voice was far away.

"So, the answer is no. I definitely need one, you don't mind?" Odeon came out of her thoughts.

"Erik you'd still have one even if I'd said no, so by all means, pour me one as well." she asked

"I thought you said.."

"I've changed my mind." Erik rolled his eyes, and thrust the full glass in her hands, spilling some on her cloak.

Odeon lowered her head to conceal her smirk. Sometimes she couldn't let an opportunity pass to needle the phantom and she wasn't finished yet.

"You know, I used to enjoy a cigarette with my wine, but I'll settle for one of those cigars you have there."

"Women don't smoke cigars Odeon. You can be quite ridiculous sometimes." he sighed.

"You want to hear my story don't you." she snapped.

"Your bribery falls on deaf ears. If you continue to be childish I'll escort you back to the theatre." Erik glared at her. Matching his glare, Odeon sprang from the lounge and grabbed a cigar. Looking defiantly at him she walked to a candle lighting the cigar. Blowing out a small stream of smoke, she looked him straight in the eyes. Erik was appalled. Shaking his head he stated.

"That's disgusting. You're disgusting."

"Yes, I know, you keep reminding me." she quipped. "Erik stop looking at me like that." Wine glass in hand he walked over to where she stood. Odeons hand was shaking as she took a light puff on the cigar again.

"Your shaking, are you still cold?" Odeon drank in his nearness, his very presence intoxicating. The contrast of black and white clothing, hair and mask, mesmerised her. She looked straight into his piercing green eyes.

"I'm scared." was all she replied.

"Of what may I ask." he enquired.

"You" she breathed. Erik opened his mouth to reply.

"I'm scared of you. Scared of how you'll react, of how you'll interpret what I have to say. Most of all, I'm scared you won't believe me." she took a deep breath. Odeon looked so unhappy Erik wanted to take her in his arms. She was so close to him, he reached out a hand to caress her cheek. For a second she leaned into his warm hand and closed her eyes. Eriks heart hammered in his chest. Opening her eyes she gave a small appreciative smile and walked to the fire. Taking a deep breath she began.

"I was in a car accident..."

"What's a car?"he interrupted.

"Erik please, this is hard enough." she pleaded. Holding up his hands she continued.

"From where, when, I come from it's a small vehicle for getting from one place to another. Like a carriage I suppose. I had this accident and ended up in hospital. I was, am, in a coma. I'm unconscious, I can't wake up. No one knows if I'll recover, that is, wake up." she took a quick glance at Erik.

"Was, am, where when. You confuse me Odeon."

"It gets worse." she confessed. Erik frowned.

"Being in a coma means I have to have...machines to help me breathe. In a sense I"m dead...and these machines help me stay alive." Erik raised his eyebrows. "The only way I'll survive is if I wake up on my own accord. Only then can I begin to heal. These machines are run by electricity and sometimes the patients loved ones opt to turn off..." Odeon started to ramble. She took a large sip of wine. "There's just so much to tell, I don't know which place to start." She started to cry. Erik placed his hands on his hips and started to pace. His reply ominous.  
"Don't play games Odeon, and those tears fall on blind eyes."

"I know this appears impossible. Please let me continue...Erik." Odeon panicked. There was no going back now. She must find a way to convince him. When Erik didn't answer she continued.

"The reason I am able to be here is because of my Aunt. She's a...she has these...special powers...and because we're compatible...she can...make me be here. Oh I'm messing this up..."

"Your Aunt can make you be here." the phantoms voice was raising. "FROM LONDON I PRESUME." he roared. Erik was beside her in mere seconds. He threw the cigar from her hands and grabbed his cape from the throne. Roughly he gripped Odeons upper arm dragging her across the room towards the lake.

"I've heard enough. I should have dealt with you right from the beginning. YOU THINK ME A FOOL..." Odeon screamed and pleaded as she stumble with Eriks pace.

"Erik No, please here me out. Please Erik I beg of you... please." Odeon wept uncontrollably "Don't send me away. I"ll explain everything, I promise. I'll make you understand." Trying to pull back was useless in his strong grip.

"ERIK" she screamed. "You can't so this...please don't do this to me...I lo..."

"ENOUGH...YOU UNDERSTAND...ENOUGH" Erik rounded on her as she tripped over a protruding rock, his face inches from hers. Odeon had collapsed in a sobbing pile at his feet.

"Erik let me...I can prove this...please give me a change... please Erik I beg of you..." Odeon reached out her hand to him. Erik quickly stood to avoid her contact.

"LIES." He shouted bringing the palm of his hand back. Odeon cringed waiting for the strike to land on her face. At the last minute Erik must have changed his mind as his palm slapped her out stretched hand with a stinging blow. Odeons hand smacked the rocky floor with a powerful force.

"Get up." he snarled. "GET UP...or god help me you'll experience what others have in the past." his voice dripped with venom. Standing his chest heaved with anger. Odeon kept her sobbing body to the ground.

"Oh Erik. I don't want to go...you must hear me out...this is important.." she grabbed his leg looking up at the tall form in front of her. "You are important, you're the reason I'm still alive...just" she placed her tear stained face on his leg, weeping. "God Erik, if you want me to beg I will. I'll get on my knees and beg if that's what it will take." Erik stony silence made her tremble all the more. She feared him as much as she feared being sent away.

"Please Erik...don't..don't send me away." her energy spent, left only the sound of heavy breathing from them both.

"This is all for you. I gain nothing from this. This is my choice. Despise me all you want, but don't send me away." Still clinging to his leg drawing in ragged breaths."You said nothing could change the way you think of me...remember...Please Erik, say something."

In one quick movement he hurled her to her feet.

"You've cut you're hand." he said casually.

.


	8. Chapter 8 The Acceptance

Chap 8 The Acceptance

Ahhh... the same pathetic scene every time. Some one begging for life, on hands and knees begging, pleading, weeping, praying, promising. Eyes bulging in terror, trembling hands raised for forgiveness. Fools, all of them fools. Their cries wasted, for the outcome was still the same. The noose cutting off precious oxygen, as quickly or slowly as the phantom chose. This wretch was no different. Except for the hair. Long and blonde contrasting with her dark cloak. - Her. This was a woman. He'd never killed a woman before. Erik jolted out of his past and back to the present. Shaking his head he looked down upon Odeon. What was she doing on the ground. His memory rushed back. Odeon, her stories, her lies.

"You said nothing I tell you would make you change your mind about me." she gulped. Back in reality, with mind and vision clearing Erik saw blood smeared on one of her hands that was still tightly clutching his leg. Having calmed a little, he hurled her up and casually stated her injury. He wanted it firmly understood she had not one this battle. He'd clear up the wound then drag her by her ungrateful neck back to the theatre. That would be the last he'd see of the problem. The ordeal had obviously weakened her. Odeon fell against him exhausted. Keeping his body rigid, he none to gently crossed the floor and dumped her on the lounge.

"Stay there and don't go snooping. I"ll get you something for your hand." he ordered. Odeon briefly glanced at her hand letting out an ironic snort.

"Why would you bother attending to a small wound? You think it important to do so? What the hell is a small wound compared to dying? Mending my hand is of no use to me." She let out a small defeated giggle.

"If you think my temper is somewhat cooled you are sadly mistaken. I'll fix the wound then it's straight back to the theatre. Do you understand. " he said coldly. Odeon didn't answer.

"ANSWER ME." Odeon quickly glanced at him and nodded.

"STAY THERE AND DON'T TOUCH ANYTHING." he bellowed jabbing a finger in her direction.

"I've lost interest in touching anything of yours now. In fact, I've lost interest in anything of you completely." Erik disappeared.

"SILENCE." he roared in the background. Erik returned with bandages and salve.

"Give me your hand." he demanded. When she refused he grabbed her arm roughly to attend the wound. Odeon watched his face as he went to work.

"You can stop looking at me like that Odeon. My mind is made up."

"You have salve for bruises also?" she added sarcastically.

"Bruises, you very lucky that's all you came away with." he said trying not to ignite his temper again. He purpously cleaned the wound with some force making her yelp with pain. The same for the salve which he liberally applied. He knew it stung like hell. Odeon knew he'd done this on purpose and glared at him trying her best not to flinch. When it was done, both sat in stubborn silence.

A few minutes had gone by when Odeon abruply stood, pulled the hood over her head and started to walk toward the lake.

"Where do you think you're going? I gave no permission for you to move." he barked. Odeon stopped.

"You wish me to leave." she stated with all the gumption she could muster up. It left her though with her next words.

"That was your command as I remember. I cannot fight you any more." she choked out. The wretchedness of her voice brought a lump to his throat, but he did not back down.

"Odeon, be resonable. I've warned you about lying and toying with me. How did you expect me to react.?" he relented. Emotional exhaustion had claimed the opera ghost as well. Wearily, he rose from the lounge. Her back was facing him, but he could see her shoulders shaking with silent tears. Sighing he walked to his cigar collection lighting one. He poured a fresh glass of wine for her and one for himself as well. Walking sheepishly to her he placed the wine in one shaking hand and the cigar in the other. Gently this time, he placed his hands on her shoulders and guided her back to the lounge. Odeons flinch at his touch didn't go unoticed. Erik was wracked with guilt. He was aware of his quick temper and agression, but this should never have happened to this extent. He wished he could learn some control. My god what would have happened if he had a rope a few minutes ago.

"Come, sit by the fire." he said softly. Odeon hesitated.

"Please Odeon, I won't hurt you." he pleaded. Both sat down awkwardly and when Odeon could not control her tears, Erik took her in his arms, both holding each other tightly. Odeons tears soaked the front of Eriks crisp white shirt. Eriks tears soaked into the beautiful blonde tresses of his little intruder. Both let sleep envelope them, neither had any choice. When Erik woke sometime later Odeon was still in his arms. He breathed in the scent of her silken hair. He'd never seen hair like that before, dead straight and not a curl in sight. Frowning, Erik had remembered something she'd said during that unpleasant episode. Something like, Erik I lo...No, no, not possible he thought. He must be mistaken. Anything could have been taken out of context in their little episode. But what if it were true? What word did she not get to finish? On impulse, Erik placed a soft kiss on the top of her head. A long soft kiss that had Erik closing his eyes savouring every moment. As Odeon stirred his eyes flew open in a panic. He swiftly removed his lips and placed them back in the usual position... off her body. He was sure his face was still red when she sat up looking at him. Energy replenished and both a little uneasy a silence prevailed. Erik was the first to move.

"Shall we start again and act more civilised?" he ventured. Odeon gave a small nod. More wine was poured and Erik lit Odeons cigar again as well as one for himself this time. Odeon stood.

"You don't prefer to sit? I recall you liked to sit on the edge of the stage." Odeon gave a small smile.

"The conversation wasn't as intense then. No, I need to move." She remained silent, unsure of where to start...again.

"Well." said Erik softly. Unable to continue Odeon started her nervous fidget.

"I can't." she squeeked out. "I'm afraid." and Erik knew why.

"Because of me." Odeon nodded. Eriks heart sank, he was so ashamed of himself. Placing his head in his hands.

"I am so sorry...please forgive me, forgive my behaviour. I promise not to come near you." Erik stood to go to the other side of the room.

""No..no, It's ok. You stay there. We must work through this. Like adults...right." Erik nodded. It may not have been the best opening line, but Odeon dived straight in all the same.

"I'm from the year 2012." she held her breath. Erik brought both hands down and slapped his thighs in annoyance. With a dismayed look Odeon pleaded.

"Erik, you promised. I'll answer all your questions, but you must let me tell you first. Iknow I messed up the first attempt, so I decided to start from the other end. It seems I've failed this also." Erik glared at her.

"Just how far do you intend to stretch my imagination." he asked.

"All the way." she responded.

"That maks me feel so much better. You may as well proceed." It was going to be an interesting few hours.

"Erik, I can't give you any proof yet, but have you not wondered how I appear and disappear. Surely you must realize there is more to this. Unbelievable as it may seem." Erik reluctantly nodded.

"Proceed." Odeon took a deep breath.

"The year is 2012 and I had this accident. The hospital, the coma, the machines keeping..."

"Yes, yes the machines, how is it possible." he interrrupted. Odeon smiled. At least he wasn't yelling. She took a gulp of wine and a puff.

"Well, they hook you up from the machines to your body with...tubes. A tube goes down your neck and the machine pumps air into the lungs...so I breathe. Any problems then an alarm goes off. The beeps become irregular and..." Erik cut in.

"Beeps...a machine, like a box." a surprised Erik asked. Odeon nodded.

"Yes I suppose that would be a sufficient way to describe it. Erik, what's wrong?" he looked uneasy.

"I've seen these things...I mean, in my dreams. I saw these things while dreaming." he said in disbelief. It was Odeons turn to raise her eyebrows.

""What else did you see?" she asked with caution.

"That was all, I can't remember." Erik frowned deeply. "There were other people, but I just can't ..."

"No matter." Odeon said quickly. How was this possible. "Shall I continue?" she asked trying to keep the uneasy feeling from her voice. Erik nodded.

"So, it comes to the explaination of how I'm here." She took another gulp of wine and so did Erik.

"Well, a little about myself then. I was brought up by my aunt, my mother disowning me..." she said bitterly.

"I can relate to that." Erik interrupted with the same bitterness. Odeon looked at him.

"Sorry." he murmured.

"Well lived together in a small unit and..."

"What's a unit...sorry." Odeon smiled. At least he's interested.

"A small, two bedroom home. She was..is..my only relative who accepted me. I had a good education, but my only interest was the ballet. I was doing exceedingly well until..." bitterness again in her voice.

"Odeon?"

"Sorry. Yes, I was doing well, then this accident." another pause. More wine and cigar.

"The next thing for now is to explain my aunt I guess." Erik knitted his brow. Something had jogged a memory. Sitting up he asked.

"What does your aunt looke like?"

"Erik what does it matter what my aunt looks like." she asked confused with the question.

"I don't know...just something familiar came to me. Please continue." Odeon started to worry. Just how much had Erik seen in his dreams?

"When my aunt was little, she experienced special things no one else could...as in knowing what was to take place before it actually did. She also saw people no one else could." Odeon glanced sideways at Erik. He was stoney faced.

"Psychic...she was psychic. You have to understand, my grandmother was the same. It tends to run in families. Not my mother though." Odeon scowled.

"Odeon, dare I ask. Who, or what were these people only she could see?"

"You may, but I think you can guess by that look I'm reveiving."

"And are you...psychic." he asked.

"Not really, well not as much as my aunt...although all my life..." She took a deep breath.

"This is where you come in Erik." The phantoms eyes grew wide.

"Me. What of me? I can assure you I'm not in...what was it...I do beg your pardon...when was it, 2012 I beleive?"

"No, you're not in 2012, but I am. Through my aunt. She can send me back to your time." Erik couldn't contain himself.

"Ridiculous" He scoffed.

"You're not going to become angry and through me out again. Are you?" she said with caution.

"No, but I should. Odeon, this is a little far fetched."

"I know, and I don't know how it works. There is no explaination...It's just there, it happens."

"And how does this involve me again." Erik wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer. This was all too wierd. If she were to be believed. Odeon hesitated and sat down beside him.

"Erik, listen to me. You've been with me all my life." He opened his mouth. Odeon held up her hand for silence.

"When I was little, I dreamed about a dark place with candles, a body of water, a man in a white mask, music." She continued before Erik could interrupt.

"I wasn't in the least bit scared. In fact your presence was a comfort to me." Erik looked away.

"Odeon, I can't..."

"I know. I know." She continued.

"When I told aunt what I'd seen and felt, I thought I'd be in trouble for making up stories...but to my surprise, she understood. It was like she expected these things. I wasn't scolded, in fact she encouraged me. She explained it was a special gift. Not everybody had a special gift. All through my upbringing came understanding and guidance. I suppose I came to accept these circumstances at a young age." Erik was silent. Was he even listening she wondered. Any moment, Odeon expected an explosion of pent up frustration at her story. She continued while there was a chance.

"Of course, it didn't earn me any popularity. The kids I was at school with thought me wierd, like they were almost afraid of me. I was desperately lonely. My aunt was my only friend." She finished with tears in her eyes.

Erik gently took hold of her hand.

"I do relate to lonlieness myself, you know. You do get used to it."

"You do?"she asked.

"No." Both gave a small smile.

"Erik." she ventured.

"Yes."

""Do you believe me so far." He let out a deep breath.

"I'm trying...It's just so...so"

"Yes, I understand, but look at it this way. Remember those thing I knew about you. Your name, the lair, your composing, the lake. This is only starters." The next few words were spoken with caution.

"I know about Christine..." She held her breath.

"What do you know about Christine." His voice tightened.

"I..I know you tutored her. She was a great success as a soprano."

"Yes." Erik was glaring at her.

"Uhh...you...you...She unmasked you." It was Odeons turn to glare.

"Erik, she betrayed you...and yet...you still...you still."

"Still what." He snapped.

"You fell in love with her. You still love her." Odeon softly replied. There was silence. She stood swiftly dropping his hand. Rounding on him she shouted.

"She betrayed you Erik, yet you still..."

"Still what." He snapped again voice raising.

"I..I don't want to talk about Christine. I merely mentioned her to convince you..." Odeon let out a derogatory snort.

"You know, the irony of all this." She looked the phantom in the eye.

"Parallels." Odeon shook her head in disbief.

"You helped Christine through the years. You were her guardian, her angel. You helped me through mine. You were there for me to. The only difference. You didn't know I existed. She was real...always real...and I'm...Well I've just been explaining what I am...but" She trailed off, but had not finished. She thrust her face into his.

"But I would never betray you." she hissed. Erik stood, temper rising.

"I will not have you speak of her." He warned."You know nothing..."

"I KNOW EVERYTHING." She shouted. Both breathing in angry breaths.

"I shall be happy not to mention her. She didn't deserve you." Odeon was not the only one to utter cold replies.

"Sit down Erik, you're less threatening that way."

"So there's more."

"Oh yes." Came the quick response. Erik rolled his eyes and sat.

"Now for the reason I'm here."

"How hard is this lot going to be for me to swallow?"

"As hard as before." Came a sincere reply.

"While in my coma, we found out we could communicate through..."

"Telepathy." Erik finished. It was Odeons turn to be socked.

"I have mentioned I have been trying to research...you. I found no evidence it worked."

"Well, in my case it does. I asked aunt if she could do me a favour..." Erik remained silent.

"I asked if I could make amends...I mean, I asked if it were possible to travel to your time...to help you."

"All this from, where was it...London." She was about to continue.

"What did you mean by, make amends?" Odeon answered quickly.

"I'm sorry Erik, wrong words. I wanted to be here to help you with your music. You see I knew you hadn't composed for two years."

"How could you possibly...?" Odeon pleaded with her eyes.

"I see." Was the reply.

"Oh Erik, I can't explain it and neither can aunt. It just happened. It happened for a good reason therefore It's important. Think about it. What some people would give for a second chance. Some one who deserves a second chance." Odeon walked over to the lounge and sat down.

"You deserve a second chance."

"Why me?" Erik asked in a quite voice.

"It's what I have to do, what I want to do. I may sound melodramatic, but it's what I was born to do ,my destiny. Nothing else matters. In some ways this accident was a blessing."

"What caused this...accident?" He asked.

"I...I...just went off the road and hit a tree. Nothing wierd there,"

"In this thing called a car?"

"Yes, it rolled a few times and I was thrown out onto the road." Erik frowned.

"Erik, what's wrong." He came out of his thoughts.

"Something you said seems familiar again, bit I just can't ..." He stood and walked to the fire. Odeon looked wary.

"What is it you're trying to remember?" She askied nervously.

"I don't know. It's nothing. Tell me, how do you appear? What's with the stars?"

"What stars?"

"When you come and...go, there's like stars. Every pin prick has you appearing or...the other." Erik felt foolish discussing the subject.

"Oh, I cannot see these myself. Aunt says it has a lot to do with my brain waves."

"Brain waves...Odeon" Erik was growing impatient. This was becoming to much to process. She walked over to the fire also.

"These machines I'm hooked up to. They are hooked up to a screen, therefore the doctors can actually see my brain waves. It's when these brain waves become erratic, I cannot travel for some reason."

"The nights you were away?" he enquired.

"Yes, those nights."

"But, how does she...?"

"I don't know, we don't know. We didn't even knew if it would be successful. It was like an experiment I suppose. Aunt had never done this before."

"And what would have happened if it were unsuccessful?"

"I don't know." Odeon started her nervous fidgeting.

"You risked this...this...travel for me. Why Odeon? Why me, and why would your aunt take the risk.?" With a grin Odeon replied.

"I can be very pursuasive. I gave her no choice." Odeon beamed.

"Now that is the first statement I can fully understand." Mumbled Erik.

"How do you know when It's time to...go?" He asked awkwardly.

"Well, its a feeling in my head. A slight dizziness, that kind of thing." She said.

"And you have to be on my stage?" He stated.

"I suppose, I don't really know. It's just the way it happened first time." She shrugged.

"I haven't tried to be elsewhere. How do you feel about all...this?" Odeon was edgy. If she lost him now she would easily die. She was sure she could make her own brain waves shut down. Erik poured another wine, gulped it down and then insisted.

"Come, I'll take you back up to the theatre."

"You escorting me home?" Odeon teased, letting out a small giggle.

"I can be a gentleman when required. As long as it doesn't have to last for long. And I think you've sampled a little too much of my wine." He said casually.

"But I haven't seen the rest of the lair. What about the lake?" She complained.

"My dear, I must keep some mystery. Next time." Taking her by the hand he led her across the cavern to the enterance of the passageway.

"By the way, does this aunt have a name?"

"Of course, but I'm not allowed to say. There are some that could cause trouble if they knew of her involvement."

"Who would know you told me?" He asked confused. Odeon just looked at him and remained silent.

"Yes, of course. What was I thinking. It was too much to hope for a straight answer." He sighed.


	9. Chapter 9 The Wise One

Chap 9 The Wise One

The journey back was quieter than the one going down, both mulling over the conversation of the past few hours. At times Odeon stumbled, keeping Erik on his guard to catch the off balance ballerina.

"Serves you right. All that drinking and smoking. Do women from your time do this often?"

"Much more so." she giggled, adding. "And wear less clothing also."

"Odeon, stop trying to goad me, you know I don't like games."

"But it"s true." She insisted. "When the weather permits."

"Of course." He mumbled. The Phantom had no idea how to manage a tipsy woman. He decided agreeing would be the best option. Arriving back at the stage he let go of her hand. Placing his hands on his hips he stared at her. "What happens now?"

"What do you mean, what happens now?" She made her way to the edge of the stage to sit down.

"Aren't you going to go all starry on me.?"

"No, not yet. I haven't been, how would you put it? Summoned. Trying to get rid of me that quickly, Monsieur Le Fantome?"

"No. I just thought..."

"Erik. I do believe you look nervous. It's nothing you haven't seen before."

"Nonsense woman." Casually he walked over and sat his tall frame next to hers. Odeon was in thought.

"You know while we wait, we could start..." She said slowly.

"Start..." Erik coughed. "Start what?"

"Let me just concentrate for a moment." Erik hated to admit it, but he was dreading what was to come next. Odeon was in her own little world humming to herself. She swiftly stood and wandered to centre stage, beginning a slow dance.

"Shit, what now?" Erik said under his breath. Odeon had stopped.

"Erik, stand up, come over here."

"No." Came a defiant reply.

"Please, I'm serious now." Erik warily glanced behind and slowly unfolded his body to stand. Odeon couldn't ignore the grace in that tall form. He would be perfect she thought.

"Take your cape and hat off." She said. The opera ghost raised his eyebrows.

"For what purpose." He said suspiciously.

"And I'll take mine off." Odeon mumbled. "I know I refused to do this before, but I cannot dance in a cloak. Just...don't...gawk."

"What elegant English 2012 uses. What the bloody hell does gawk mean?" Odeon went to the wings the same as she'd done the first time she appeared and dropped her cloak. Taking a deep breath, she turned to face the phantom.

Eriks eyes devoured every inch of her. He was sure he'd forgotten to breathe the entire time. My god she is breathtaking he thought. He compared her to a marble goddess in her white clothes, blonde hair falling over her shoulders, pale skin blending all together in the perfection that stood before him. His eyes unashamedly took in every detail from head to toe. Erik knew he was staring, unable to pull away. Dragging his green orbs from hers they continued down resting on full pink lips, past her slender neck to the thin fabric of her bodice that hid nothing to the imagination. Erik knew she was uncomfortable by her deep breathing making her breasts rise and fall, adding heat to the fire already raging throughout his body, past her flat stomach to the v section of her femininity. Erik swallowed, taking in the strong shapely dancers legs, eyes moving upwards coming to rest once again on her breasts, this time showing faint outlines of round nipples. He'd never seen anything so exquisite, so sensual. Conscious of his bodies response, Erik took comfort in the fact he was still wearing his cape. How wonderful it was to feel alive again

"Erik...ERIK." Odeon shouted. She shifted uncomfortably folding her arms around her waist. "You're gawking." Erik snapped himself out of his lustful stare and cleared his throat. Annoyed, Odeon stomped to where he stood.

"I haven't time for this nonsense. Can you dance?" Erik took a step back.

"Of course I can dance. I have women beating my door down to partner them. Thousands of them." Came the sarcasm. She continued to watch him for more outbursts and when none came she stated.

"Well then, one woman shouldn't be a problem. Come and stand by me." Erik glared at her.

"What is that ludicrous mind up to now?" Odeon giggled.

"Erik, I do believe you're chicken."

"A chicken. What's chicken, besides the obvious?"

"Just...come here." When he didn't move, Odeon grabbed his hand and dragged him centre, stage.

"Now give me your cape and hat...Please." Erik reluctantly removed both items and threw them at her. Placing them on top of her discarded cloak, Odeon announced she had the beginnings of a dance in mind.

Odeon raised graceful arms dancing small pirouettes around the phantom. Erik felt the breezy swish of her skirt through the material of his black pants, the feathery touch of her long hair as it grazed his face, sending a delicious shiver throughout his body.

"What am I supposed to be doing?" he asked thickly.

"Thinking of music." She replied. Music, how could one concentrate on music with this temptress applying seductive moves in front of him, again awakening tired body parts. Clasping his hands in front of him, Erik cleared his throat.

"I don't think this is going to work."

"It will in time, don't be so impatient." She replied as she twirled and dipped, raising those strong graceful legs, arms moving like they floated on uplifted air, hair flying like gently ruffled feathers. None of the ballet rats danced this way. It was the classical but some how different. Erik was taken back to a piece of music he'd written awhile after she appeared. If he remembered correctly, a nymph seducing a lover, and older lover. Yes he could definitely extend on that idea. A spasm of excitement rippled through his insides, always a good sigh of when something sensational was developing in the geniuses mind. Odeon had stopped, leaving him a little disappointed. Sensing this, she walked to where he stood.

"Dance with me." The opera ghost shifted awkwardly, the ballerinas face dead serious.

"Dance with me." She repeated. Searing her blue eyes to his, Odeon took both the phantoms hands. Erik was sure his face had reddened as he placed unsteady hands on her body for a waltz. She had never been this close, the thin fabric almost like warm bare skin. Gliding slowly around the stage, Erik drew her even closer, the connection sending shivers down his spine. Losing concentration, he stood on her foot.

"Sorry." He managed to choke out. Odeon never answered, so lost in his nearness, drinking in every detail of the body pressed against hers. The firm secure hand on her back burned through the layer of her leotards, while the front of her body touching his was so close, she could feel the buttons of his white shirt. Odeon felt taunt muscles in the shoulder of her partner, while her other hand disappeared in the powerful paw. Eriks heart hammered strongly against his ribs, there was no way Odeon wouldn't feel the rhythm, and he didn't care. He marvelled at the way their bodies moulded into each other so perfectly, and he couldn't contain a smile from spreading across his face as he whispered.

"You are very short my petite." Odeon looked up.

"Five feet I'm afraid, and you're so tall...how tall?"

"I have no idea." Was the reply. Consciously Odeon lowered her head. My god he was so close she could feel his breath cascading down her face, feel his heart beating as fast as her own. Erik dared to move his hand to her waist as they continued to circle the floor to their own silent music. The pressure of her breasts on his chest unleashed the usual primal urges he'd been fighting since she'd dispensed of her cloak. Soon he would be forced to end the dance to avoid further embarrassment.

Odeons defences were down. She couldn't compete with her own sexual desires he ignited in her. The growing hardness of his manhood had her feeling weightless in his arms, making her own body respond, with a warm sensation between her thighs. The slow descent of his hand to her waist had her utter a small whimper. Instinct told her otherwise as his breathing deepened to match her own. She risked a shy look into his piercing green orbs that flickered with blatant desire. No. Odeon was well aware of what was about to happen, the parting of her lips matched the parting of his. Alarm bells rang and were promptly ignored as the ballerina watched the opera ghosts lips falling onto hers. Oh Aunt help us, was the last thing she remembered as Odeons eyes clouded, her head falling against Eriks chest, her body weakening in his arms.

"Odeon, Odeon wake up. What's wrong? ODEON CAN YOU HEAR ME?" He shouted shaking her. Odeon stirred. " That's right my petite wake up, I'm here." Recovering, she took a step back holding her palms against her flushed cheeks.

"I...I must go." she softly spoke.

"No...no." Erik shook his head in denial.

"I must. I'm sorry." Odeon started to cry as sparkles invaded her body.

"Don't go. Please don't leave me."

"I have no choice over these matters." Her body was fading. "Erik." came an echoed shout.

"Don't go, not now." He cried.

"The nights I wasn't with you...I missed you to." These were the last ethereal words the phantom heard before she vanished completely. "NOOO. DON'T TAKE HER." Erik screamed to empty air as he paced the stage floor in desperation. "YOU SELFISH BITCH. BRING HER BACK. SHE'S MINE." Eriks rage almost bordered on insanity in her absence. The wing partitions were the first victims as the opera ghost vent his anger.

"NO ONE DENIES THE PHANTOM. Interfering Fu..king shrew." Erik gritted his teeth as pushed the partitions over on one another. Back stage curtains were ripped and props shattered. Any thing breakable was thrown against walls and floors, old furniture smashed in bits, sending up a cloud of dust particles to settle on the mangled wreck of the opera stage.

"SHE'S MINE, DO YOU HEAR ME. I'LL KILL YOU FOR THIS YOU EVIL OLD WOMAN." Rage had subsided to uncontrollable sobbing.

"I'll find a …..way...I'll..kill you...I'll kill you...ODEON"

'Go away Aunt Neve, you did that on purpose. You deliberately brought me back before I was due. How could you. Can't you hear him?...ERIK.' She screamed. 'I'M HERE. I'M SO SORRY. Why did you do that?'

Aunt Neve was angry, but her main worry was to calm her emotional niece. She mumbled incantations only the wise ones would understand and crooned soothing verse. 'Child forgive me. I had to, you know that. Crossing the boundaries platonically is one thing, the physical and emotional, quite another. Please child, rest now...rest'

'I can still hear him.' she sobbed.

'Yes I can hear him also. He called me an evil bitch as well as other things.'

'I don't care.' she wailed.

'I know you don't...at this moment. Now rest.'

Walking the short distance home Aunt Neve reflected on the nights events. 'I should never have allowed this.

AND YOU, YOU MURDEROUS POSSESSIVE FOOL. NOBODY THREATENS A HIGH PRIESTESS. DO YOU HEAR. You are nothing but an ignorant boy. You know nothing of the ways of the ancients. They hold powers more potent, more forceful, far beyond your pitiful dalliances. BEWARE PHANTOM. UNDERSTAND THERE IS NO COMPETITION.'

Stumbling his way through the passages, Eriks head rang with disconnected enraged words, interrupted by crackling static, putting him off balance. He covered his ears to block out the onslaught, to no avail. The candles in the lair swayed before his eyes, cavern walls spun in and out of focus, all accompanied the vertigo that had invaded his body. Erik fell to his knees gasping for breath. Sweat poured down his face as he struggled to undo the buttons of his shirt with trembling fingers. Before finally giving into the blackness, Erik watched as the cavern floor came rushing up towards his face.


	10. Chapter 10 The Determined

Chap 10 The Determined

Madame Giry needed some peace and quite. The renovators were in an uproar at the vandalism of the stage. Someone must have broken in over night to wreck this havoc although no forced entry was found. The ballet mistress knew different and try as she may, she couldn't stop the opera ghost rumours running rampant. She sighed. Making her way down the passages, she dreaded what she would see. What mood would she find the phantom in? What had caused his rage? Coming out of the tunnels, eyes adjusting to the candle glow, she saw a pile of material on the cavern floor.

"Erik." She cried. Running over to where he lay from the night before, she jumped as Ebon removed himself from his masters side, letting out a desperate meow.

"What has been happening here Ebon? Oh Erik, my poor boy." She rolled the heavy body over, replacing that all important mask before waking him.

"Erik, wake up...Erik...your freezing." The opera ghost stirred, vision and sound a blur. Someone was with him, someone familiar thank god.

"Where am I? Is that you Madame Giry?"

"Yes, yes. God what happened? We must get you to a fire. You must try and stand. Have you been here all night?" It was a struggle, but Madam Giry managed to get a wobbly phantom to his fire.

"Sit here, Ill make you a hot drink."

"Thank you, you have always been so kind to me." His hand flew to his face.

"Was my..."

"Your mast was still on Erik, don't worry. You know I have seen you many times without it." Erik was holding his head.

"And I'll get you something for the pain." The ballet mistress returned with medication, coffee and blankets.

"Now dear boy, what has happened here...and upstairs?"

"I can't remember." She eyed him suspiciously.

"Have you been drinking?" Madam Giry spotted the empty wine bottle and took note of the extra glass.

"This... Odeon was here, yes." Erik sat up.

"Yes, Odeon...and I was not drunk."

"Erik, tell me. Who is this girl. Did she do something to you? Did she drug you?"

"Of course she didn't drug me woman." He replied impatiently.

"Then, what happened to the stage?" Erik frowned trying to think

"The stage..." He took a sip of soothing hot coffee sending a warm welcoming rush throughout his body.

"Erik, the stage has been wrecked. Curtains ripped, props smashed. The wing partitions knocked over." She stated.

"Did you do this...and if so...why may I ask?" She had no patience for Eriks tantrums.

"We danced." He stated.

"Danced." She said hands on her hips.

"We danced till she disapp...till she had to go" He stated quietly.

"And what kind of dance would this be, some prehistoric war dance. For it certainly wasn't the graceful classics."

"It was the graceful waltz." He sighed. Madam Giry came to sit beside him.

"Then what...what happened to the stage? You realise opera ghost rumours are flowing thick and fast. Do you want to draw attention to yourself?"

"I can't remember." Erik, only partially lied. Some things were coming back.

"I suppose I took my frustration out for some reason."

"The reason, this girl?" Madam Giry asked.

"No, not the girl...Odeon, her name is Odeon." Erik barked.

"Then what? Don't lie to me. I know you to well." She continued stubbornly.

"Enough, Madam. I'm in no mood."  
All right, do you remember how you ended up on the cavern floor." Erik glanced up at her.

"No...I do not remember." Giving up she threw her hands in the air.

"You must rest. Go and have some descent sleep and I'll try and sort out the mess you left upstairs." She scolded.

"Now, let me help you to bed. I shall be back later to check on you."

"Really Madam Giry, there is no need. I will survive."

"I shall be back to check on you later." She repeated. Erik knew it was no use arguing.

"Now, as soon as I'm gone, take off those damp clothes and rest." She ordered.

"I shall do as you asked, anything for peace."

"Precisely." She nodded a goodbye. Erik undressed and tried to sleep under the warm blankets – to no avail. Dragging himself out of bed he ran a hot bath, gratefully sliding his aching body into its depths. Closing his eyes he went over the nights events, remembering all up to the journey back home, the rest a mystery, especially laying on the cavern floor with a few undone buttons, one torn off the shirt. Odeons strange story...could she be telling the truth – there appeared to be no other option. Then there was the waltz. Erik drew in a deep breath remembering how their bodies glided together, in perfect timing. How flawless each form moulded into the other. What exquisite bliss, for that short time no one invaded their own little world. Time has stood still for the opera ghost and his little ballerina. How would situations be now if that kiss had taken place. So close, he could feel her warm breath as her lips parted ready to receive his. Then the cruellest part – when Odeon had almost fainted. Holding up the body of his beautiful, sweet, impossible little Odeon, he knew who was responsible. Eriks body tensed in rage. That aunt, that spiteful diabolical old woman. She'd taken Odeon that moment of this he was certain. That vital second that could have changed both their lives forever. Oh yes, and he remembered that uncontrollable rage that ensued. Forcing himself to be calm was never one of the phantoms strong points, however the hot water was doing it's job. The unpleasant scene of the night before fading, inviting sleep...and dreams.

Erik rested against a large tree watching the approaching mist swirl in and out of thick branches. He had been pursuing something through the forest. Something vital that was not yet found.

"Erik...Errrrik" The phantom started as this ethereal voice whispered near his ear.

"Odeon, is that your voice. Where are you? I have been searching..."

"Yes, I am the one you call Odeon." Replied the close echo. The tree trunk softened, emanating a warmth he felt through his clothes. Turning he came face to face with a pair of blue eyes set into the tree.

"What...?"

"Don't be so surprised my love. Did you think I'd never find you? You are mine Erik, were always mine. We belong, we continue." Eriks eyes grew wide.

"What...how...where are you?"

"Hush now, all will be explained. Close your eyes for me Erik." She whispered. Erik obeyed. "Can you feel my hand?" His lips parted with the slow intake of breath. Yes, he could feel her hand placed over his heart. Warm flesh to warm flesh. Her small fingers running through the hair on his chest, up the side of his neck, tracing his jaw line and coming to rest on the parted lips. Erik let a slow moan escape from his throat as his whole body shivered.

"Odeon, what are you doing to me?" His own voice echoed through his head, having succumbed totally to her enchantment, a feeling of weightlessness invaded his body, contrasting with heavy heartbeats pounding in his ears.

"Sshhh...I've waited so long to touch you once again." Odeon traced his lips with her fingertips lightly grazing his teeth. Erik gasped at her intrusion, his breath becoming deep and hoarse, as Odeon pressed her fingertips firmly against his lips.

"Kiss them Erik. Let me feel your heat when you taste me. Leave me with the wetness from your mouth." She breathed. Eriks body shuddered from her words as his hand flew to hers, urgently pressing fingertips to his hungry mouth. He kissed each finger separately, running his tongue over the tips, before finally cupping her hand and pressing a searing kiss to the centre. Odeons hand jerked under his lips, sending ripples of pleasure through out his body.

"Erik." She gasped, with a sharp intake of breath. He felt her quickened pulse, could almost see the blood sizzling, coursing through the veins in her wrist. It was like a large sign, a banner that screamed at him - in an instant Eriks lips left her palm and came crushing down on her throbbing wrist.

"Odeon...what's happening." He groaned as his lips continued gently nipping the length of her thumb, taking the end entirely inside his mouth. A roar had started in his ears leaving him weak with desire making his knees sag under his own weight. Eriks entire body was being drained of all restraint.

"We are happening." she whispered. "Our love is happening. Listen...what you hear is my blood rushing through my veins. You arouse this hunger in me. You ignite my very soul with your touch. I burn for you Erik." She echeod fervently.

"God Odeon, these words, no one has uttered such passion to me. I'm afraid if I open my eyes you'll be gone, and I must see you. I need to know this is real, let me hold you Odeon. Let me kiss you." Erik felt desperate tears forming behind closed lids. If this moment slipped away he would die.

"Open your eyes my love, I'm here. Look at me." Eriks breath caught in his throat as she cupped his face in her hands, savouring the wonderful sensation.

"Don't be afraid, look at me." Erik slowly opened his eyes to the vision standing before him. The tree had disappeared leaving a smiling Odeon in its place. Eriks heart leapt. She truly was a goddess he thought, taking in every bit of her beauty, her long flowing hair that caught a continual breeze he didn't feel, that body of perfection encased in a long gown that appeared to resemble the markings of the missing tree. Erik watched entranced as she brought her palms down and placed them on his chest. Everywhere she touched had his clothing melt under her searching hands. Erik could feel warm flesh move over his body, back up to his shoulders, down over his chest, fingers circling small nipples. He released a groan between deep rasping breaths and watched as she appeared to take in every detail of his exposed body, fingers searing his own burning flesh. Taking his hand Odeon looked intensely into his green orbs as she placed his palm on her chest just below her throat.

"Erik, touch me, just as I did you." He swallowed,trying to ignore the dull throbbing ache in his loins that only intensified as his palm melted through clothing to feel the fullness of her breasts.

"How does this happen. I can feel through the material. Ahhh Odeon, your skin is so warm." Erik Hissed through his teeth as fingers moved down finding aroused peaks.. Odeon whimpered and arched her back to entice more caresses.

"God, am I the reason for you sighs Odeon. Does my touch excite such desire in you?" With urgency she brought the phantoms head to her breasts. Erik uttered a guttural cry as he devoured a hardened peak in his mouth, teasing the other with nimble fingers. He could feel her hands firmly on the back of his head pressing him into her, turning his body into liquid heat. The tiny amount of strength left was almost depleted.

"Yes, Erik, only you...you are my desire...I exist with your touch...your are life." She breathed.

"Odeon, is this real, am I dreaming? My god I want this real. I want you real." Eriks voice came in harsh pants as he fell to his knees, wrapping his arms around her waist, and pressing the side of his face into the soft skin of her stomach.

"Let me melt into you Odeon. Find a place inside of you for me." Desperate hands ran up and down her back exploring the scorching flesh. A cry escaped his lips as he roughly caught her hips in his hands pulling her even closer, teasing her navel area with his tongue before darting inside.

"Erik." Came a deep sigh as she grasped his shoulders for balance.

"You must be real, you've set me afire. My god I burn for you Odeon. I can't get enough." Erik breathed as more urgent kisses were placed across her stomach.

"We are the only thing that is real, my love. We are alive, always alive." Came her ethereal reply. "You can feel this energy we make. This is our existence." Odeon caressed his shoulders, fingernails lightly grazing sending uncontrollable shudders through out his spent body. The phantom had broken into a sweat sending rivulets tricking down his face soaking into clothing adding weight to the already weakened form.

"My god Odeon you're driving me insane." He growled burying his face in her stomach once again, tugging at her skin with his teeth, eager hands wanting more fulfilment, he lightly brushed soft curls as he sagged against her thighs, all energy lost. The mist, now welcoming swirled cooling tendrils around his fevered form, lulling the phantom into a peaceful slumber.

Slumped against the tree trunk Erik fumbled around for any sign of Odeon. The only contact was rough bark and his heart sank. Her presence, however had been replaced by the strains of music ebbing and flowing, in harmony with the dance of swirling mist. If only he could awaken tired muscles to stand, music sheet must be found to record this beautiful melody. Unfortunately, his body still bore the weight of wet clothing and the absence of energy, the only option was to let sleep take control and condition the mind to remember notes that floated around him. Awakening sometime later he was aware of the wetness still surrounding his body, the clothing had somehow disappeared. Confusion of the dream and reality merged until the familiarity of his own bathroom came into view, as well as the music. Thank god he remember the music. The erotic part was well implanted also but that would have to wait. He could analyse that later. Right now the only thing on his mind was to put ink to paper before it faded. He leapt from the now cool bath water, dried himself, donned warm clothing and, wearing a smug grin, scooted to the organ. It was going to be a productive day.

Aunt Neve didn't sleep much that night. Odeons travel she would deny tomorrow and dreaded the childs reaction. Arriving home she poured a cup of soothing herbal tea she knew probably wouldn't work, but dare not take anything stronger .

"I'm getting to old for this.' She thought. In her younger days explanations and ideas constantly bombarded her psychic energy. No one was turned away from her wise words and the little unit was alive with children, or adults for that matter, who needed guidance, help, even shelter. The child had grown up learning about the hazards and happiness life had to offer. Aunt Neve knew she suffered for this wisdom at school. It was very common when one was born into the knowing, other normal children didn't stand a chance of understanding. Some, however were intrigued, some grew from the wisdom, some chose to repel the call. This indeed was a shame, wise ones were becoming fewer and fewer. Charlatans not so few.

"Why did I have to agree to help you child. I worked so hard to sway your mind, and I had succeeded. Yet she still came through, in a different way, but she did come through.' Should she be surprised. No. You can't turn the tides, tempt fate. This was the greatest sin with dire consequences.

Sin. She hated that word. So very christian

'Ahhh, these new so called religions...' She left the thought unfinished. It is and always has been the old ways. Old as time itself. Her mind went back to the child she'd taken on at three years, her mother choosing a life of parties and high society. From this early age, Aunt Neve sensed the child had inherited some of the psychic, all be it a limited amount. More importantly, what had caught her attention was the eternal chatter of caves, underground water, candles, music, a man with a mask. This information had some familiarity itself in Aunt Neve. She already knew of the place, knew of the man. She knew who her niece was but not so herself. Maybe a ballet rat. Once she thought herself a reincarnation of Madam Giry, but no. There was not enough evidence. The major task in the childs upbringing was to persuade her niece she was not Christine Daae. It had taken years of patience, education and understanding, all vital in the survival of this precious little girl. Encouraging her to despise Christine seemed the only option, a path leading away from the incessant questions of her younger years. Now it appeared the gods had posed a challenge out of her nieces accident. Was it their way of completing a story that must be told. Either way it was imperative to be seen through, and Aunt Neve had know idea of which way to guide the up coming events. Some one has to lose, there can't be all winners.

The next night, Aunt Neve was faithfully by her hospital bedside...waiting.

'My dear girl, you can't ignore me forever.' She sighed.

'I only want what's best for you.'

'Odeon. My name is Odeon now.' Aunt Neve gave another sigh.

'My dear, if that's what you want. I shall call you Odeon.'

'Thank you. Now I'm ready for travel if you please.' Here we go Aunt Neve thought.

'Chil...Odeon, I can't send you tonight. It is for your own good.'

"For my own good. Then you'll be aware I must see him.' Aunt Neve was sure she saw a pout forming on the still lips and smiled.

'Just like a spoilt child refused sweets.' She absently muttered out loud.

'I am not a child any more.' She retorted.

'I'm well aware of that. Your actions last night would have had you jumping into that monsters bed if I hadn't interfered.' She chastised.

'It is my body to do with as I please, and he's not a monster. He...he said he missed me Aunt Neve. I heard him that night I didn't travel.'

"He is a monster I repeat. You're blind my girl. Blinded by …...' Aunt Neve didn't want to finish.

'Love.' Odeon shouted. 'Is that what you won't admit.' Aunt Neve was uneasy. Her next comment had to be said knowing how untrue it was.

'You know nothing of love.' As on que Odeon exploded.

'How dare you try and discern my feelings. You think me naïve and ignorant, yet you pride yourself on my upbringing. I call that hypocrisy.'

'Don't be rude to your elders. We know far more about feelings beyond your tender age. Our task, unfortunately, is trying to convince the young, they don't know everything. Don't be to eager to grow up my child.' Aunt Neve had softened her vioce.

'Will you let me travel tonight then.' Odeon pleaded.

'I can't, not tonight.' Odeon knew that determined voice and started to cry.

'You can't keep him from me, not now.'

'Especially now.' She spat. 'You must think about your actions, you must see reason, the danger. One more night is not going to matter.' She said adamantly.

'Very well.' Aunt Neve opened her eyes in surprise. Her niece was never this easily persuaded.

'I shall remain...bed ridden...tonight, for tomorrow night, I want to appear in the lair, not the stage. I trust some one of your talents can do this.' Aunt Neve eyed her suspiciously.

'And why this change. There was nothing wrong with the first arrangement.'

'No reason. I just want to see if it can be done. Think of it as an experiment.' She quipped. Her Aunts eyes narrowed.

'Closer to his bed you mean.' Odeon remained silent. 'Odeon I'm warning you. Have you know idea of the dangers.'

'It's none of you business...' Aunt Neve interrupted.

'It's all my business.' She shouted. 'I can tolerate only so much disobedience child.'

'Odeon...'

'Do not push my patience.' Aunt Neves vioce had become dark accompanied by hissing crackling sparks. Odeon shrank back from the onslaught, as pin pricks of heat landed on her body like tiny wind blown embers. She had witnessed this often having a wise one for an relative. Aunt Neve was terrifying in anger, not one to be wronged. Reality came crushing down on Odeons mind and it worried her a little. The similarities between her Aunt and her phantom. She prayed the two never meet.


	11. Chapter 11 The Waiting

Chap 11 The Waiting

The song for this chapter comes from the Ken Hill production of POTO, While Floating High Above. This would have to be my favourite piece of music ever, and to think I found it by accident. Of course it is from Bizets, The Pearl Fishers, the lyrics my own.

Erik heard the release of the booby trap lever. Madam Giry had kept her promise. He as still at the organ writing furiously when he heard his name called.

"Erik, where are you? Do you feel any..."

"Madam Giry, ah you came." Erik darted out of his seat to greet his old friend. He grabbed her arm roughly and dragged her back to the organ room.

"You seem to haver recovered from your ordeal. Slow down Erik, I'll trip."

"Ahh madam, a dancer of perfection such as yourself, would never allow it." He said excitedly.

"Erik please, I'm not as young as once."

"Nonsense." Came the dismissive reply.

"All right Erik. I'm very pleased at your recovery. Dare I ask the reason for this good mood?"

"You may and you shall receive...listen" Erik sat down at the organ and gave Madam Giry a beaming smile. She watched her friend, taking in every detail of the phantoms facial expression, through the most beautiful music ever. This even surpassed his last effort she thought. The smile had never left his face throughout, and when finished only grew broader as Madam Giry was left speechless. She closed her eyes will the music to continue.

"Well." He urged. She opened her eyes and hoped she'd caught a glimpse of what he may have been as a boy – one with a normal happy life. A young excited boy displaying pride in something he'd created that was pure and good. Her eyes misted over.

"Oh Erik...where...how did you find such notes...such beauty." She breathed.

"Ahhh, a genius never divulges." He purred, happily rubbing his hands together. "This calls for a celebration...champagne I think?"

"Well yes, yes Erik...of course. Your music is brilliant." Her eyes softened.

"Halyon is still loyal, I see." She said.

"Yes, Halyon is still my eyes and ears from the world above." He sincerely replied.

"You know, you've brought survival to a family you've never met. A very grand and noble gesture. You're a kind human being and I'm proud of you Erik." She smiled

"A human being, grand and noble." He replied bitterly. "I'm can assure you I possess no knowledge of these words."

"I'm sorry Erik, please don't change your happy mood. It makes me happy also to see you like this." She gave his arm an affectionate squeeze..

"No mood swings allowed today." He agreed, popping the cork. Madam Giry ventured.

"It's this Odeon, yes." Erik quickly glanced up with his answer.

"Yes, yes. It is Odeon." His eyes shone with pride. Clearing her throat she took a sip of champagne.

"Will I ever meet her?"

"Perhaps." Came a shy reply. Madam Giry eyed him warily. This girl obviously brought the best in the opera ghost, but, so did Christine. Maybe not to this extent though. Madam Giry feared for her much loved deformed boy. She'd witnessed his near destruction over the dark haired soprano. He'd never survive another, of that she was certain.

"Why so silent Madam. Is this not a victorious occasion? I can almost see those cogs turning in that brain of yours. What, may I ask, is that mind conjuring up... hmmm?"

"My mind does not conjure Monsieur. I was merely wondering when I should meet this girl." She quickly replied.

"I don't really know." He said absently. "Maybe soon. Would you like that." The phantom shuffled his feet like a school boy and gave her a wink.

"Erik, are you toying with me?" She said suspiciously.

"I... toy with you...Never Madam." He replied in a deep mocking voice.

"So, this mysterious girl, she only sees you at night. Is that considered normal, you think."

"Quite normal, from where she comes from." He replied with a chuckle.

"And, where may that be." She inquired. "And don't tell me London." Eriks smirk had not left his face.

"Madam. A genius never divulges." He repeated, wagging his finger.

"Oh, Erik, you're impossible." She huffed.

"Thank you. You're most welcome. Now, tell me, how does my stage look. You shall receive extra funding of course."

"That is not the point Erik. You really must learn to curb your temper. You simply can't go on destroying things if you don't get your own way." She implored.

"I don't see why not. Scold me all you like woman. I refuse to let anyone remove me from my little cloud nine." He boomed. Madam Giry sighed.

"All right Erik. I shall leave you on your little cloud." She turned to leave. "I repeat. I am very proud of you. You know that don't you...and... your music is...sublime."

"Thank you Madam. My loyal, faithful critic" He said with a sweeping bow.

"Good night Erik." As soon as the ballet mistress disappeared Erik fled to the organ. He was not able to resist another run through of the new masterpiece before preparing to greet his muse later on. The waiting would be unbearable, but it was for her...it was all for Odeon.

I Want You Real

Your music fills my ears

And there it will remain

Contained, till someone hears

My heart in tears

Compose again.

You infiltrate my day and dreams

At night, and while

Your mind consumes my soul

You hold, frozen in time

Unending fire

The night your story played

Invaded days gone by

Your memory resides

Seduction climbs

Ascending high

So step out from your night

And touch your lips to mine.

Convince me dreams are gone

Embrace my arms, and drown me in your sighs

And make our bodies one.

Reach out appear – I want you real

Reach out appear – I want you real

Madam Giry didn't like what was going through her mind. Not once had she any reason to spy on Erik. Tonight would be the exception. She must find out about this girl and what her intentions are – forcefully if required. No one was going to hurt that man again while she had breath in her body. There will be no repeat of two years ago. The phantom of the opera was not the only person to instil fear into the ignorant. Hiding places were abundant in the yet to be cleared stage, and it was with a heavy guilty heart, some while later, Madam Giry placed herself out of site and waited. Many images raced through her mind of what this girl would look like. The worst scenario would be a young girl with long dark curls. Would Erik be foolish enough to risk his life again, or his sanity. There was no telling how his mind would react to a Christine look a like. Memories of two years ago projected through her mind adding disquiet to her short fretful doze. Stomping feet, shouting, screams, gunfire, all of long ago. Foot steps again, this time quieter, were approaching. Madam Giry started out of her sleep with the sound of humming. A some what familiar piece. Her eyes grew wide with surprise at the unusual site of Erik striding onto the stage, unable to contain his excitement. He paced, hands clasped behind his back, occasionally breaking into song. The new masterpiece, of course, it had lyrics, such beautiful lyrics. She never ceased to be amazed by his talents. She vowed this girl would be worthy of him. She would make her worthy, or god help her...Madam Girys thoughts were interrupted by the eager words of the opera ghost.

"Ahhh... Odeon, where are you my petite? I have the most splendid surprise. Hurry... please hurry to me." He urged to the empty theatre, rubbing his hands together as the pacing resumed. Some times he paused, checking for a sound, a glimpse of something in the shadows. Then the humming would start again, the pacing, his brow furrowed in thought. Even with his mask, she knew those facial expressions. He pounded his fist into an opened palm for emphasis.

"This is you Odeon...YOUR MUSIC...it has surrounded me, consumed me." Erik spread his arms turning in small circles. "You...have consumed me..." He stood still, letting his arms drop in defeat.

"Do you hear me at all I wonder?" Madam Giry continued to watch Erik, his head back looking for some thing above him. Over the next few hours the scene did not change. Erik pacing. Erik sitting on the edge of the stage. Erik calling to Odeon. Erik becoming impatient and eventually... Erik despondent. Madam Giry became afraid. Watching disappointment envelope the opera ghost, a sight so often repeated, made her heart sink as always. Surely not again. This lonely, gifted man deserved better, and she desperately wanted to take him in a motherly embrace, to rock him gently back and forth,to reassure him time would see happier days. Her thoughts went back to a few hours before when the man before her was elated and uplifted...on his cloud nine, and now...?

The Opera Ghost casually walked around the havoc of the stage, running his fingers over up turned props, biding time... hating time...his actions becoming slower as the minutes passed.

"Ah, Odeon." He sighed. "How I'd welcome your teasing now. It would mean you were hear, hiding from me, playing a little game. I would scold you of course." He let out small laugh. "But then I'd find you...I'd always find you." He trailed off, looking into emptiness. "You mentioned that in a dream I had of you. Did you know I dreamed of you. Oh yes, a most beautiful, beautiful dream, Odeon." He stated excitedly. " You said you'd always find me. I wonder what you meant by that?" Erik continued his slow amble around the stage, coming to a stop near Madam Girys concealment. She watched as he lowered his head in thought, her heart pounding so loud, he was sure to hear. My god, if he found her...? The thought was left unfinished.

"You said...we belong, we continue...we're always alive." He choked out. "Such serenity and passion to your spoken words..." Came his whisper. Absently, he wandered to the wings...looking. "You...you've made me come to life...your very existence lives within me...I have breathed you in, experienced the very essence of your soul." Erik closed his eyes taking in a deep breath and slowly letting it out.

"Are you there, my little friend...no I suppose not." He continued to the front of the stage and sat down. "Perhaps... if I sit here? This is your favourite seating arrangement I seem to remember...and I do remember...everything about you I remember." The phantom stared into the empty audience. "I like to think I know your mind...and your heart...and it is not one for deceit or cruelty. I'm afraid that is my description. No, you would not be one to keep me in solitude. You are the life itself, vibrant, kind...and yes...real. For you are real to me. Very real. I have to believe that. To save me from madness...and myself. I have to believe.

Madam Giry frowned. Those words were familiar, recent familiar words. The lyrics. His new work 'I want you real', and something about dreams by day and night. Dear god. A dark thought entered her mind, the reality struck, as an ice pick would, thrust deep into her heart. Is it just possible this girl exists only in his imagination. Suddenly a wave of deeper remorse passed through her. She shouldn't be here, not to witness something so personal. She wished for the comfort of her small cottage, her little Meg, excited by the latest gossip. What she would give now, to be forced to listen to mindless chatter. Madam Girys heart absorbed Eriks turmoil, his pain becoming hers as tears slid down aged cheeks. Oh how vulnerable and lost was this tragic figure before her. Who could blame someone of his past atrocities and torment to find shelter in fantasy.

'Oh Erik. How can I face you again, knowing what I do. How can I make you understand. I shall never forgive myself with this intrusion. No such sorrow should be on display she thought as she slowly shook her head. Lifting her eyes and fixing them once again on Erik, the phantom slowly straightened his slouched body, and inhaled a few deep cleansing breaths.

"Shall I sing for you...your music... my petite? Wherever you are, you may just...hear my words...your words." Instantly, Madam Girys mind was immersed into the angelic magic that was the voice of the phantom of the opera. Such lilting, haunting words, found her body weightless, floating on nothing but pure enchantment. His voice resonating of the opera walls, ethereal, timeless. Such crystal clear perfection. Dear lord, this music, surely this must be for the ears of the world, not confined to the Paris Opera House. The ballet mistress still had her eyes closed, devouring every note, when Erik abruptly stopped. He awkwardly unfolded himself to stand, and stumbled to centre stage. Holding his head in his hands, his body swayed.

"Of Course." His arms now gracefully out stretched, grasping at reason.

"Ahh, Odeon. She forbade you to travel to me. Is that it my petite? Do you wish to be here? Do you lay angry and disappointed?" Erik gazed into emptines once more. "Does your body feel loneliness...my loneliness?" His voice shook as he closed his eyes on unshed tears, one fist going to his heart, his large frame sagging to the floor.

"For, you see. I wish you here...always here...if that were ever possible. And if you were here, well, I probably would never admit this." He said, shaking his head. "For I can be cowardly in these matters...and, when I'm not cowardly...I tend to over react and...and, disaster usually eventuates." Erik drew in a deep breath, raising his head. His green orbs searched the buildings heights once more.

"Yes, my Odeon, your phantom can feel fear at times...and I fear losing you. I fear your absence." Erik let his head fall.

"I fear being left with only dreams." He whispered, as he rose to his feet. Trying to gather some semblance of strength to his voice, he stated to the empty theatre.

"I wait...for you Odeon...I wait...I'll always wait." Erik wrapped his cape around him as a rogue breeze found its way into the opera house, and taking one last hopeful glance around, made his way back to a welcoming fire. And his music.

Madam Giry remained in her hiding place for some time after he'd left, trying to make sense of the past few hours. More convinced than ever, of Erik creating reality out of fantasy, brought endless tears to her eyes. All this talk of travel. Did this girl live so far away? Far away in his imagination most likely. The lyrics, I want you real, his fear of being left with only dreams, we belong, we continue, I have to believe. Were these strong words so implanted in his mind, he convinced them to be fact. Do you lay angry and disappointed? Dear lord, what did 'lay' mean. If this girl did exist, was she ill, or worse, dead? Had her poor Erik invented a friend out of his loneliness – but the music, the lyrics. The ballet mistress stood on shaky legs, limbs stiff from so long in one position. Walking off stage, her body also gave a shudder. The same as Eriks had the last time she'd watched him leave the stage.

The next morning, Madam Giry broke her promise and did not make her way down to the lair. She did not trust her face not to betray her thoughts. Besides, a reasonable enough excuse to visit three times in as many days, could not be found – and for the first time in her life, the ballet mistress felt old. The meticulous dedication that came with both dancer and teacher had seen her cope through lifes hurdles. Her no nonsense obedient personality she instilled on her students also applied to others around her. Discipline ruled the ballet world as well as her own personal world. Problems that crept into that world were quickly sorted and promptly forgotten. Not so this day however. A sleepless night, resulting in an early morning headache, ruled her domain that morning, accompanied by a sinking, sickening feeling that lay in her stomach, a constant reminder of last nights ordeal. She knew exactly how Erik was feeling, all be it under different circumstances. Yes, right now she felt loneliness. There was absolutely no one to confide in, to share a burden. No one for that matter she could go to, to help Erik. There would be no doctor for him, and from what she'd heard, the methods for fixing a confused mind, were often barbaric. So for the first time in her life, no quick, sensible solutions came forth – and yes, that did make her feel old. Not once had it occurred to her, Erik may fall to illness, mentally or physically. The alternate, by all means. The police, a vigilante, a mob like two years ago, any attacker that survived his assault, yes. Madame Giry shuddered at the thought. How cowardly I am now. There had never been a moment in the past she felt fear in her phantoms presence. Not even when she first laid eyes on him. A travelling show, exhibiting all types of oddities, human and otherwise. It was a compassionate and kind young ballet dancer who showed courage on that night she set him free from his chained cage. Supplying him with food and clothing, a moment she treasured always was the acknowledged appreciation shown on the distorted face of this abused young boy. She knew not of where he went or how he'd survive – but survive he did. The proof came many years later when gypsies camped outside the city perimeters. By an astonishing coincidence, the now young ballet mistress was in the streets as they passed. A few seconds peek as a face disappeared behind a curtain was all she needed. That face was forever imprinted in her head, and so it was once again, during the night, another journey was made for his rescue. This time, she vowed, the poor creature would have food and shelter, and she knew just where his new home would be. And so the Phantom of the Opera legend began. It was also the day Madam Giry secretly confessed to being the mother of two children, her biological daughter, Meg, and her adopted son,Erik.


	12. Chapter 12 The Usual

Chap 12 The Usual

Aunt Neve did not want to send her niece to the lair, there was nothing wrong with the stage, but as usual Odeon had bullied her to give in. It came with her own conditions, however. She reminded her niece over and over that only she had the power to travel her, and certain rules must be obeyed. It was imperative she remain distant from Erik, regardless of her emotions. These instructions repeated so often were falling on deaf ears. If her niece continued to disobey, there would be no alternative. Therefore came the inevitable cajoling, the threats and bribes. So, it was with a bit of bullying from herself, she sent her niece once again to the lair against her better judgement. Many times Odeon had asked her aunt how she achieved this. The answer was always evasive, for Aunt Neve had never divulged who she'd been in her past. Odeon was oblivious to the fact her aunt knew these places well, and that she also, had once walked the same passages and floors during the time the phantom reigned at the opera house.

Odeon hugged herself with delight. She was in the lair – his lair. Thank you Aunt Neve. It worked, and I promise to be on my best behaviour. The ballerina was about to call Erik, but decided on giving the opera ghost a surprise. She found him sitting in the wood carved throne, one hand draped over the arm rest.

"Monsieur le phantom I presume." She stifled a giggle, thrilled to be in his presence.

"Oh, your sleeping." She whispered, clamping a hand over her mouth. Erik was slumped on his throne in crumpled clothes and unshaven. His smoothed down wig resembling a birds nest and shiny polished shoes lay wherever they landed. He must have slept here all night. It certainly wasn't her idea of comfort, yet how peaceful he looked. Odeon drew in a deep breath at the seductive form half seated, half laying in front of her. Her eyes immediately drawn to his unbuttoned white shirt revealing the strong body she'd been pressed up against the night before last when they danced – when he almost kissed her. Odeon felt her body melt. She was wax to his flame, an invisible force enticing forbidden desires to invade her mind. How beautiful he was, the mask only adding to his irresistible appeal – and how she adored him, loved him - was not permitted to love him.

'Oh Erik, to be this near. Why must you temp me. We are not allowed temptation.' Her eyes were wide with fear and yearning. 'If you wake, what would you do? I don't know if I could disguise my feelings, then you would see how much...Oh, may I be permitted...just this once.'

Holding her breath, with all promises ignored, she dare to out stretch her hand and place it close to his chest, their body heat blending in the narrow space between their skin. She let out a slow breath.

'You must feel this Erik. This heat is alive , it smoulders.' She swallowed as she risked a shaky finger to trace a feathery path down the length of his chest, across his stomach to stop at the waist band of creased black pants. She let out a gasp, a shudder going down her spine. A wave of guilt washed over her. What if the shoe were on the other foot. Her body tingled with the image.

'My god, why am I doing this?' Her heartbeat was pounding through her head, tempting her fingers further. 'I have no right to touch him, he does not belong to me. Will never belong to me.' A tear found its way down her flushed cheek as she reluctantly removed her fingers.

"Odeon, you found me." He stirred, taking in a lung full of air. The ballerina jumped and snatched her hand to her mouth in embarrassment, but Erik continued to sleep a contented smile on his lips. Her eyes left the area of the waist band, and, adoringly trailed back up his torso to fall on that smile.

'Found me. What do you mean by that my love.' She whispered. 'Can it be you're dreaming of me? Dare I hope it so. - and if you were, what would that mean. Could it mean you were about to kiss me the night we danced...and to think I blamed my over active imagination. Oh Erik, how unfair life is. How that kiss may have altered things. The very reason for my existence sleeps right in front of me and I am not permitted to...' She turned abruptly and walked to the fire wiping away angry tears

'Aunt Neve, you can't control my life, I will not allow it. Must I live without happiness. I can't understand why you insist it be so. Besides you, he is all I have. There has never been any one else. There must be more motive behind why I can travel. We have an urgency to be together. Surely you can sense that.'

A sob broke from her throat. Throwing a quick glance over her shoulder, she breathed a sigh of relief at the undisturbed phantom. Odeon placed her hands on the hearth and rested her forehead on them. Her brow was hot, her breathing coming in short pants. There was no alternative but to gently wake him, severing any form of tempting fate. She dried her sweaty brow on her cloak, and leaving the warmth of the fire, softly tiptoed back to his sleeping form.

'You hold such power over me Erik' She whispered, devouring every inch of the exposed body, her breathing still light and shallow. 'Are you aware of that. At this moment I must wake you. Yet I fight this discipline. It deserts me and I risk everything. I invite danger to us, yet I am powerless to do otherwise.' She shifted a lock of hair that had fallen over his mask.

'So I must beg of you. Please don't wake up...just let me touch your lips ever so softly, you won't even feel it. Let me finish what was started that other night. I may never have this chance again.' Odeon leant over his sleeping form, bringing her lips gently to his, savouring the warmth between them.

'Please let him sleep.' She prayed. 'So I can remain here a little longer.' Odeon closed her eyes drinking in the smoothness of his lips, the slight rush of his sleeping breath on her face.

'Why must this be denied to me.' Her eyes filled with tears again, falling onto his mask. Did she lean in to far, or unconsciously press her lips a little firmer on his than she should have? Perhaps it was her long hair that had fallen to tickle his bare stomach, for in a flash, large hands had seized her shoulders, spinning her body away from his and twisting her arm up against her back.

"WHO DARES TO WANDER DOWN HERE." Came a venomous snarl. Odeon screamed in pain when her arm was jerked up her back again.

"ERIK, stop, you're hurting me." She yelled. The opera ghost released her immediately.

"Odeon, dear lord, how did you get here? Oh, I've hurt you. Please forgive me." Erik reached out for her but Odeon had ran to the other side of the organ, putting a barricade between them.

"I'm sorry, please, let me look at your arm." He raced after.

"Stay where you are you lunatic." She screamed. "My god, what sort of animal are you?" She accused rubbing her arm.

"Odeon, please, calm down...let me"

"CALM DOWN. I think you've dislocated my shoulder crazed maniac."

"Please, let me take a look. I doubt very much it's dislocated. ODEON, come here." He said becoming impatient.

"And how would you know. Hah. Let me think. You've done this before." She shouted, pleased with her guess when Erik didn't answer.

"Yes, you know how to hurt. You know how far to hurt...you...you sadist." She fumed. Erik tried to catch her but she kept the organ between them.

"This is ridiculous." He hissed. "Just let me..."

"Stay where you are or I'll scream." She threatened.

"Odeon, you haven't stopped screaming. There's nobody to hear." He tried to be reasonable, and as an after thought added.

"And name calling will not resolve the situation." Odeon glared at him.

"You're a beast, a deranged madman Erik. You're everything the world describes you as." Her blue eyes flashed as they continued their ' catch me if you can' around the organ. The game however, had to end when the infuriated ballerina caught her toe on the organ leg, sending her sprawling on her bottom.

"OWW, more injuries." she wailed." Erik was beside her in seconds, to help her stand.

"No." Her voice shook. "Keep away from me" She sobbed as she crawled backwards away from his approach. "I don't want you near me. Shit, I was only trying to...If that is what happens when I try to..." She said between sobs. "Don't come near me. You scare me Erik...Don't you understand. I fear you...please don't touch me."

Erik straightened up slowly, overcome at her words.

"Odeon...please don't say these things." He whispered. Reaching out for her again, she shrank back.

"Noooo... Odeon, please tell me. You can't mean this. Please Odeon, it was an accident. You... you snuck up on me. You...you...frightened me." She cringed away from him even further.

"Is this how you justify you actions, twisting them to make you the victim."

"Please Odeon, I was mistaken. You...you cannot begin to know how I've lived...try to understand..."

"Let me stand so I can leave." She demanded. He gave her a long pleading look, let his arm drop and turned his back, giving his head a slight nod. Odeon scrambled to her feet, giving her rump a massage, all the while, keeping an eye on her attacker. She had seen the desperation in his eyes, and heard the sorrow in his words. Yet her mind still reeled from his attack. The ballerinas heart hurt more than the arm wrench. She now wished Erik had woken to her kiss. Surely it would have been less painful, to both body and mind.

"Yes, very well, by all means, leave." He spoke softly. "I understand. No one must be subject to such abuse...and if they are, well, they become some one like me...and...I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy." He kept his back to her, and, walking to the fire, threw another piece of wood onto the embers.

"For you are correct, in every name your called me. You are correct. I am that very madman, deranged, dangerous...I was born a monster, Odeon, an animal. I had no choice but to act like one to survive. My method of defence...I must admit, is extreme. It was either myself or death. You have to understand, for a long time throughout my life...I've never had...anyone to trust. I have lived alone Odeon...in this darkness...and I'm afraid we've become one of the same. For I am darkness itself. Evil. I destroy everything that comes near me. So Yes Odeon, for your own safety. By all means, leave." He let out a defeated sigh.

"But, before you go...please, forgive me. I never meant to hurt you." Erik, felt to ashamed to cast his eyes in her direction. He quickly continued, hoping to detain her, albeit for a few minutes longer.

"Is your arm any better? If you would permit me to look at it...I...I won't hurt you Odeon. Please do not fear me." When Odeon didn't respond he continued.

"Can you at least say something. I'd like to hear your voice once more before you go." He inhaled a deep breath finding something interesting on the floor, he nudged it with his shoe. "Call me those harsh names again if you have to."

Odeon cleared her throat. His words tugging at her heart. She was trying to comprehend the complete turn around from an innocent stolen kiss and wondered if Aunt Neve had interfered again.

"I'm the one that should be apologising. I...I over reacted. I just...you frightened me Erik. I just happened to be standing so close." She threw him a guilty look. "To...to... surprise you, and then you grabbed me...I...I"

"And I attack you like a wild beast. Assuming you meant me harm," He finished. "Ah Odeon, why was I born with this face. This face is death, yet I'm condemned to live... If you can call this living... in solitude, locked away from companionship, sunshine, beauty...and when I'm blessed with a chance of companionship...and...beauty," Erik spoke the last word softly. "I destroy it...make it ugly like my face." Odeon wished she'd kept her mouth shut, hating herself for opening old wounds.

"Erik, you haven't destroyed beauty. You've created it. Look around you, your home, this cavern is beauty itself. My god, you surround yourself in beauty with you music, your voice. You possess talents far beyond any one I've ever heard of. Man or woman is not born perfect. We all have faults...secrets...regrets..." She trailed off. Erik turned to her as she walked up behind him.

"I'm suspecting also there is much more beauty here you haven't yet shown me ." When Erik didn't answer, she reached out to place her hand in his. The phantom took a step back.

"No. Don't. I'm poison, Odeon. Touch me and you will taint your flawless body, your blood will share the same venom that runs in my veins. I cannot allow that to happen." He walked away letting out a derogatory laugh, throwing his hands in the air.

"What am I saying." He reeled on her, hands splayed. " I've already laid my hands on you, hurt you, more than once." Erik choked out the last words. Odeon strode adamantly to where he stood, ignoring his flinch as she grabbed his shoulders.

"Now you listen to me Erik. This is superstitious nonsense you speak. You drown yourself in the negative. You've resigned yourself to not venture past that waterline, to breathe in the sweet positive air above." Erik was powerless to pull his eyes away from hers, his ears held captive in the voice that spoke of opportunities available if only he believed in himself, ventured outside of dreams.

"This doubting only exists in your mind. It's clouded your judgement of how much you can achieve. You owe yourself so much more." Eriks eyes filled with tears. This girl, woman, holding so much faith in him - ignorant of the reality that was his life. But for a few brief moments he allowed himself to be convinced of her words. To live in peace, gain respect in the world above, be free to travel...to own a face the public could gaze upon without revulsion. The phantom manage a small appreciative smile and with trembling fingers, dare to take hers in his.

"Yee, of such wisdom, my petite. If only it were possible." She seared his green orbs with hers.

"It is possible." She emphasised. "You have already started. You can prove this to me." Eriks eyes widened.

"Show me the rest of your lair. I bet its filled with masterpieces other than music. Paintings, drawings. What other exquisite objects will I see behind closed doors...but only if you want to...of course" She released her hands and walked to the fire.

"I have never had anyone beyond this room." He said simply.

"First time for everything." Came the familiar reply.

"Yes, you remind me often. I don't know what to say." He mumbled awkwardly. The state of his derelict attire had been noticed for the first time and he was horrified.

"Erik, I do believe you sound embarrassed." She stated. Teasing him with her words. "What may I ask, do you not wish me to see?" Erik let out a chuckle.

"Right now, I'm afraid it is my state of dress." Odeon turned to face what no man would ever be allowed to witness. A scruffy, dishevelled opera ghost. Her eyes immediately sort out his bare torso once more. Eriks face reddened.

"Oh...forgive me." He mumbled, quickly doing up the buttons. She noticed the wrong button holds he used and smiled at his modesty.

"Oh. No apology necessary, I can assure you. I think you look devilishly sexy." Erik eyebrows shot up, appalled once again at her directness.

"You manage to make lite of the most impossible situations."

"Thank you." Came a mischievous reply, making him frown.

"How very coarse of you. You are no lady Odeon. A lady would not utter such words, let alone seem proud of them" He stated.

"I never confessed to being one. So stuffy and starched, reserved, frigid..."

"I prefer elegant, well mannered, moral, refined..." Odeon stuck her nose in the air and gave a snort.

"Ridiculous. You've just described the world above you shun." She fired back. Erik took the bait.

"The world that needs to be shunned." He roared. "Is that abomination you reside in." Odeon opened her mouth to retaliate. Erik continued.

"Just look at the example your century churns out. Direct, shameless, vulgar. Why I bet the entire population is corrupt. The way you speak. You swear Odeon. You brazenly open your mouth to the most delicate subjects." Erik was on a roll, pointing accusing fingers directly at the quick tempered ballerina.

"Oh, come on Erik. Even the 17th century had the word, sex. It isn't that backward. Is it? Sex did...DOES exist. People are known to participate in the act, probably as we speak. It's just not an open subject for this time..." Odeon was losing her patience of not so long ago.

"As in your pristine society." He sneered, spreading his arms wide in exaggeration.

"Well, it's not considered such a big deal to mention the word. The majority usually don't act like a demented ape about the topic." Odeon fumed. Erik lowered his arms at the insult and raised his head trying to preserve some dignity.

"Public discussions no doubt. How I fear your breed." Erik managed his most arrogant, disdainful tone.

"MY breed." Odeon exploded. "How can you defend YOUR breed by forcing pregnant women into loveless marriages for the sake of morals or religion. Yes, these things are in the open, not hushed up or ignored...to...to be swept under societies dingy carpets. My society is free to choose..."

"I want to hear nothing of the lecherous beings you live amongst. Do you think me a fool, that I live in ignorance. I"m well aware of how unfortunate women are treated in these matters..." He barked.

"Well you do live underground, if I'm not mistaken, shun the world above. Forgive me, but in my opinion, these are perfect breeding grounds for naivety...and I've only just started." She shouted

"And you can cease this instant." His chest heaved with rage. "I will not be lectured to by a child."

"I am not a child." Odeon hissed through her teeth. How she hated that saying.

"Then stop trying so hard to convince me your ARE." Erik shook his head in defeat. "You know Odeon. You can raise my temper as quick as look at me. I was peaceful before your return."

"No you weren't. You were miserable." She retorted. Erik sighed.

"It's been, what, only half an hour maybe, and we've managed two significant, separate, arguments. I must confess I feel rather drained." He said running his hand through the birds nest. He looked at his hand.

"We do appear to have been successful at a bad start...in more ways than one." He continued to stare at his hand, reminding him of his dress code...or lack of it.

"Yes, it seems so. I'm sorry Erik." She said sincerely.

"No..no...leave it there. Just...let me tidy up." His voice trailed off as he scooted to the bathroom. A delicious thought went through her mind.

"Can I watch." She called.

"ENOUGH YOU HUSSY." He bellowed. Erik could hear her giggles as a grin played across his unshaven face. Ahh...everything was back to normal. He was ecstatic at her return.


	13. Chapter 13 Cruel Challengers

Chap 13 Cruel Challenges.

Erik marvelled at the difference ones familiar clothing made to the subconscious mind. Freshly shaven and forever pristine in a clean tuxedo, he returned to the throne room, wearing an elated, confident smile. His muse had returned, which meant he could play his new music. All arguments forgotten, the night would be filled with her inspiration, her music. The phantom of the opera was overjoyed.

"Odeon, where are..." He became aware of a shapely leg casually thrown over the arm rest of his prized carved throne, the other stretched out in front.,and his brows knitted in annoyance.

"Did I give you permission to sit there? - and if you must, permission or not, would it be too much to ask to sit like a lady?"

"Erik, it's only a seat, and I'm quite comfortable sitting this way." His eyes flew open.

"A seat...only a SEAT. Woman, do you know how long it took me to carve this exquisite piece of furniture? Show some respect...OUT" Odeon sighed.

"All right...all right...calm down. Can we please not argue...again?" Erik looked away to hide a grin.

"It would be my pleasure." How alive she made him feel. Composing herself, Odeon stood to take in the splendid sight before her. Her majestic, handsome phantom, was torn between appreciation and abashment. Nobody had ever observed him with such blatant, admiration before. He quickly turned his back and focused on adjusting some candles.

"I see my little intruder approves of neat attire. I'm impressed."

"You scrub up divinely." She cooed.

"Scrub up...another 21 century ….catchphrase I presume. How utterly low." He sniffed.

"You're most welcome." Came a proud reply. Erik cleared his throat.

"You never travelled last night?" He asked in his best off hand manner.

"No...I"

"Your aunt?" He interrupted, keeping the bitterness from his voice.

"It's her way of punishment."

"Punishment...for what?" Erik turned to face her.

"Oh...I just did something I shouldn't have." He raised an eyebrow.

"Why am I not surprised by that remark. Although, I must admit, forgive me, but, how it possible you can do something wrong from a comatose body?"

"Oh, believe me, I manage."

"Yes, I do believe." Came a sincere reply. Odeon lowered her eyes.

"Did you wait long for me?" Erik gave an impatient huff.

"Nonsense, I am a busy man." He looked away and swallowed the lump in his throat.

"Oh." Erik flinched at her disappointed .OH.

"Yes, yes, very busy, and now I'd like you to hear something." Odeon hadn't moved, as Erik placed himself at the organ.

"Come...stand by me...please. I have a little surprise." He felt nervous. What happens If she doesn't like it? He pushed the uneasy thought from his mind as he started to play.

The phantom didn't look at her the entire time, and when finished, placed his hands in his lap and quietly asked.

"Well." A light touch fell on his shoulder. He wished to be wearing only a shirt instead of a suit. That way her body heat would sear through the thin material onto his skin. Just like in the dream, he nearly said aloud. He swivelled in his seat to face her, watching as tears fell on her cheeks.

"Dear lord, it wasn't that bad, surely?" Odeon wiped away the tears and sniffled.

"Oh Erik, you silly man. I ….I ..can't find the words. Beautiful doesn't even come near. How do you create pieces such as these. Your music is superb." She breathed. "I'm...speechless. Imagine me speechless." Odeon laughed.

"Well miracles are known to happen." He said with a smile. "I have more...there are lyrics...would you like me to sing for you?" The lump was back in his throat.

"Lyrics, you have lyrics? Oh yes...I must hear them." Quickly she removed her hand.

"NO PLEASE...keep it there." He said adamantly and cleared his throat. "You, um...bring me good luck." He quickly mumbled and sank into his body. 'What an idiotic thing to say.' He thought turning red. Erik was glad he faced the keys. Odeon slowly replaced her hand as the phantoms angelic voice filled the cavern with the first line of I Want You Real. Once again, he did not look up when finished, aware of the intimacy in the lyrics. He cringed inside, taking a deep breath.

"Well, what do you think?...of course, if they're not to your liking...I can easily rewrite more...appropriate lyrics." What an remarkable influence this girl had over him. Never if his life, had another human managed to rattle his conscience.

"Look at me Erik." He turned and swallowed, aware Odeon had lifted her hand and let her cloak fall. "I'm covered in goosebumps." She whispered, taking his hand and placing it on her bumpy arm.

"You're crying again." Trying to change the subject, he allowed his hand slide down the length of her arm.

"Yes." Came a sniffle and a smile. "Two physical signs of how much your music affects me...the music and the lyrics..." Odeon couldn't finish. With a sharp intake of breath, she watched his warm palm caressing her arm, making her goosebumps stand out further.

"Erik?" She asked in a small voice. "Are those words about me." The ballerina could feel the heat in her face, but she had to know. Erik swiftly dropped his hand and cleared his throat.

"Well...ah...most of them...not all of course...obviously." Erik chided himself for being unable to construct a full sentence.

"No...please...you don't have to explain." Dear lord if his lyrics were for her... leaving the thought unanswered, she asked in a hushed voice.

"Please sing for me again." As he started to play she closed her eyes and let out a sigh, absorbing every note. This time, Erik watched her throughout the whole song, eyes devouring every inch of the figure standing close by. Familiar urges were stirring. Every detail of that erotic dream of days ago were permanently branded on his mind. His eager hands free to touch wherever he wished, encouraged by her cries of pleasure. His body relived the sensation of his lips taking in hardened nipples and placing fervent kissed across her stomach as he buried his face in soft warm skin. Just as he wanted to do this minute. A shudder rippled it's way throughout his body. What he would give to take her into his arms, and not gently either – no – he needed the dream. Wanted to crush his lips to hers, explore that beautiful mouth with his tongue, press his body into every curve, probe every inch with caresses. Yes, inside and out. Erik felt the rush of blood coursing through his veins, resulting in a dull throb. Dear god, he could almost taste her. Odeons breathing had also deepened, causing her breasts to visibly rise and fall, igniting what was already a raging fire in his belly. Could it be she shared this desire, shared that aching need for release.

Erik knew his own rein of control was slowly slipping, his own breath becoming laboured. The last "I Want You Real' was left unsung. He dare not glance at her as he quickly stood to stride to the other side of the room. Running his hands through his hair, the phantom, once again, wished he had the protection of his trusty cape.

"Erik." She called in a tight voice. "What is it? Are you angry with me?"

"No...no" He sighed. "Just please...give me a minute." He closed his eyes, gaining control of his breathing.

"Has something happened." She ventured.

"Yes, you could say that." Came a muffled reply. Erik had placed his hands over a flushed face.

"Are you ill?" Odeon heard a slight chuckle.

"Quite possibly...no, I'm fine." He took in a deep cleansing breath, brushing down the front of his tuxedo.

"Then come back here...sit by the fire."

"My dear, the last thing I need is heat, and don't ask me why. I may be tempted to tell you the truth."

"You're not making any sense."

"Nothing is making sense right now." He squared his shoulders and walked back to the throne. The ballerina was sitting on the lounge, eyes firmly on the floor. An irrational thought flew through the phantoms mind. Dear god, did she suspect. Erik swiftly sat down, eyeing her intensely.

"Why didn't you finish your song?" She could feel his eyes burning through her, and when he remained silent, glanced up, matching his stare. Their eyes stayed fixed, Erik was the first to pull away.

"Ridiculous." He spat in annoyance, placing lustful eyes on her once more.

"I...I don't know what you mean Erik." She replied in a trembling voice.

"You know very well what I mean." His voice had darkened. "Do not pretend to play the innocent." Quickly, Odeon looked to the floor again.

"Your naivety doesn't become you." He hissed. Odeon flung herself from the lounge and walked to the fire, her arms hugging her body. Even with her back turned she sensed his green orbs drinking in naked flesh. The clothing she wore, a non existent barrier.

"Turn around." He commanded.

"I can't." She choked.

"Then allow me be of assistance." He threatened. "Turn around." Odeon was shaking from head to toe as she turned.

"Look at me ." He barked .She raised her head slowly. Erik leaned forward in his throne, placing his elbows on the arm rest, searing eyes catching hers.

"Don't look at me like that." Her voice pleaded.

"Like what. You tell me Odeon. For we both see the same, do we not." Eriks harsh breathing matched her own, turning her trembling body to liquid heat.

"Answer me."

"Erik, don't please...we can't"

"Can't what..." Eriks eyes were glued to hers.

"What is it you would like to do?" His demanding words assaulting her ears. "Oh come, come Odeon, I will not tolerate this innocent pretence. SPEAK."

"Please Erik, you know not what you ask." The quivering ballerina pleaded to the forceful figure before her.

Erik leapt from the throne and was beside her in seconds, roughly grabbing her shoulders. Odeon did her best to avoid his blazing eyes.

"Know not what I ask." The phantom shook her like a rag doll, his breath cascading down her face adding to the heat surrounding her.

"Look at me and tell me you feel nothing. No fire in your veins, no urgency to your hunger. Tell me your body is not consumed with desire, begging for satisfaction, that your heart is devoid of this passion." Eriks voice came in harsh rasps as he relentlessly assailed the reality. Odeons knees were giving out under her weight, as he yanked her roughly upright.

"Erik please..." She wept, struggling unsuccessfully under his powerful grip.

"Please what?" He continued. "Don't speak the truth. Tell me you experience none of this and I will call you a liar – and you know how I despise lies. For you see my little intruder, I see your very being tremble with need, I see longing in those beautiful blue orbs of yours, your body, even now as I touch you, is on fire. You suffocate in the same yearnings I do."

"ODEON LOOK AT ME, stop fighting me." He shouted. She lifted her tear stained face to his. Eriks eyes still glowed with passion, his voice however, became less intimidating. He released her shoulders catching both her hands in his large paws.

"You ask about my lyrics." He said urgently. "My god Odeon, of course the lyrics are you. My heart surrounds every word. How could you think otherwise?"

"No Erik...please don't say anymore." She was powerless to stop the hand that brought her fingers to his lips, sending lightening bolts throughout her body.

"Why not Odeon. What are you afraid of? Do you think I didn't feel you respond. Why deny your bodies needs – and do not tell me you don't desire." He demanded squeezing her fingers, his breathing heavy, searching for an answer in her eyes. After a moment, he dropped her hands in disgust and turned his back, raking frustrated fingers through his hair.

"I'm sorry for everything." Odeon let her weakened form sink to the ground. "It's all my fault...I shouldn't have...I tried so hard not to..."

"Not to what?" Erik had regained his rage.

"Not to...encourage you. This was not supposed to happen." She spoke into the floor shaking her head. Erik reeled on her, dragging her to her feet.

"Encourage me, you foolish girl. I needed no encouragement. Your very presence intoxicated me. You could stand still and the result would be the same. Don't you understand, it doesn't take actions or words. No. Just you, my little intruder." His voice thick with hunger. "Your existence, your ambience, your memory, from the first night you appeared on my stage you surrounded me, consumed me." Eriks husky voice assailed her ears as he backed her up against the cavern wall, pinning her arms above her head, eyes unashamedly lowering to her chest.

"I see your heatbeat Odeon, rising and falling. I feel it pulsating in my hands." Erik squeezed her wrists for emphasis. Odeon felt faint with the closeness of his body, his mouth whispering near her ear. He gently brought one of her hands to his chest and pressed her palm flat. "We breathe as one."

"Erik." She gulped.

"Yes Odeon. This is all you. Controlling my very life, every heartbeat." She felt herself start to slide.

"Oh no you don't, my petite. Not this time." He growled. Erik quickly jambed a thigh between hers, savouring her intake of breath.

"Ahhh...now my dear." He purred. "The ultimate evidence of my desire – if, you were in any doubt that is." Odeon gasped at his audacity, not expecting such intimate behaviour. Her mind panicked in fear, and not for the throbbing hardness against her upper thigh. Her fear lay in her own abandonment, his thigh pressing against the wetness between her legs.

"Please Erik, this is dangerous. There is only so much I can take." She hissed. Erik arched his hips closer.

"Precisely." Another purr. Bending to place his lips on her shoulder, he continued to speak in between wet kisses as they travelled up her neck. Her body twitched under his lips, causing soft whimpers to escape her mouth.

"Ahhhh...Odeon. My proof. You cannot fight this, you desire as much as I do." Erik ran his palms down her pinned arms, and, catching them as they fell, and threw them around his neck. His own swiftly encircled her waist bringing her flush against his muscular form.

"Say it. Let me hear your words Odeon. Tell me you want me." His harsh pants melted her like wax to flame, she tightened her embrace around his neck, making resistance impossible. As one hand slowly slid to her bottom, she pressed herself into his manhood. Erik buried his face in her hair letting out a muffled moan.

"My god Erik, don't do this..." Her own harsh pants matched the phantoms. She was well aware of only a few flimsy layers of clothing separating needy flesh. His other hand roamed slowly up her back and threading his fingers through her hair, brought her face to his, pressing hungry lips to her forehead.

"You plead with me to stop, yet I see no effort on your behalf. Can you stop I wonder?" He breathed, kissing the tip of her nose, moving his hips from side to side until Odeon mimicked the rhythm.

"I thought as much. Tell me you want me." He growled. "Look at me Odeon." The blood pounding in her head was so loud she barely heard his words, but the fire in his eyes and the throbbing on her thigh said all. With an unbridled groan, Eriks lips came crushing down on hers, destroying what little control she possessed. Odeon felt she was falling into an abyss. She had always loved him, there was never anyone else, and the passion was just as she imagined. Vibrant, suffocating. She responded to his lips, her own mouth hot and demanding, both only halting a second for precious air.

"Erik." She panted. "Yes, I do want you. I can't get enough of you." The phantom dare tease the tip of her teeth with his tongue, resulting in small cries from his beautiful ballerina, as she willingly darted her tongue to taste him as well.  
"Dear lord, if I die now..." He mumbled between gasps.

"Take it off Erik...please." She interrupted. "I need more of you."

"Take what off." He felt her hand roam over the mask.

"The mask, take it off. I want to kiss you all over." Erik only paused for a second.

"You know I can't do..."

"Oh god Erik, please...I know what's underneath. You know I know what lies underneath. Please, I need to touch you." She said breathlessly.

"No, I beg of you. Anything but that." He gently placed his hand over hers as she caressed the masked side off his face. Odeons body appeared to plunge through time when he cupped her hand, and nothing could prepare her for the overwhelming familiarity with this contact. She was home, her life had come full circle, her very essence appeared to sigh with fulfilment. Eriks form so perfectly moulded into hers completed her soul. Together they were flawless, absolute. Yet a minuscule of concern tore a tiny hole in the perfect fabric of their existence.

Isolated murmurings penetrated the barrier between reality and illusion. Eriks voice was dragging Odeon back to some form of sanity.

"...dreams. You are my dream." He murmured, leaning into her hand.

"What dream Erik?"

"You Odeon. I dreamed of you...just as we are now. You told me, we were one, we belong." His words brought a flutter of unease to her stomach. These were her thoughts exactly. My god, what was happening here. She tore the hand from his mask as Erik continued.

"It was so right, so real for us. So familiar. I can see that now." His palms slid over her hips to grip her bottom, arching his hardness into her stomach, mimicking the very act of love making.

"Yes, you are very real." Eriks hoarse pants became deeper as Odeon ran trembling hands over his chest and encircled his waist., pulling him closer. She breathed in the smell of fine linen clothing, his own male muskiness sending shudders throughout her body.

"Dear god, you smell wonderful Erik." Odeon breathed in deep, her hands slid to his hips and continued down, only to rest where their bodies joined. Erik let a growl escape his throat as he took a slight step back, leaving a narrow space for her tempting fingers.

"Touch me Odeon...please" He hissed through his teeth. "I want you so much, I don't know how much longer I can hold off." Eriks palms flew to her breasts, running finger tips over hardened peaks, causing her to utter small cries of pleasure.

"Please Odeon, I'm not a patient man." He rasped. Her heart pounded wildly, the blood coursing through her veins sizzled while his hands burned at her breasts. Yet she hesitated. This had gone too far and become way out of control. Why hadn't Aunt Neve put a stop to this, was it some sort of test. A feeling of trepidation sent a ripple of warning to her stomach.

"Damn you Odeon." Erik growled, the caressing ceased, as he grabbed her hands. "TOUCH ME." Odeon gasped as she came in contact with his throbbing manhood, observing every shudder that raked through the imposing figure before her.

"No. Erik. We can't. This is not right." She shrieked trying to pull away, but Erik held her firmly to him.

"What is it Odeon, you find my body displeasing." He rasped.

"No, god no Erik. How could you think that." She breathed, her fingers closing around him.

"Ahhh Odeon, I've never felt such bliss. I'd accepted the pleasures of the flesh would always be denied someone such as myself, but now you're here... my dream. You are perfection my petite and so beautiful." Eriks words came to her in deep irregular pants, touching her heart and bringing tears to her eyes.

"You've breathed new life in me. You are life itself... my life." She risked a quick glance but Eriks eyes were closed in ecstacy. She closed her own, tears falling to her chest, savouring every second. Only in her most intimate dreams had this scene taken place, and more. She was allowed one tantalising glimpse of what could have been, but will never be again. How utterly cruel Aunt Neves laws were. Why did they come with sacrifices and prices to pay if you disobeyed. To have her phantom at last, wanting her, this was her dream also, and now, she would be responsible for destroying any bond between them forever.

Odeon yanked her hands away and took a few steps back.

"Odeon, what are you doing, please don't stop this." Eriks eyes flew open. "What's wrong? Have I frightened you?" He reached out to hold her but she backed away more.

"No Erik, you haven't frightened me. I could never be frightened of you now. But this must not continue. I made a mistake. I just wasn't strong enough. I should never have..." Her hands flew to her face. "This can never happen again." She said miserably.

"What do you mean, strong enough. Why must you be strong. It's what we both wanted. Odeon please, what are you afraid off?" Erik felt panic. He didn't like the changed atmosphere and dreaded what was to be said next.

"You're leaving aren't you. Please forgive me. I should never have forced you..." His voice shook, tears stung at the back of his eyes.

"You didn't force me. Never think that. I knew very well what I was doing...wanted to do...but yes, I must go now. It's better for all." Odeon was doing her best to sound firm. The phantoms eyes narrowed.

"It's that aunt of yours, yes." He spat.

"Yes...no...oh Erik, try to understand." Odeon began to wring her hands. Erik continued as she bent to pick up her cloak.

"And tomorrow night. Will you be permitted to travel? Have you been that obedient little niece? No punishment to be bestowed upon you." His voice raised in anger. "That woman rules you life Odeon."

"She is the reason I'm here. Try to remember that." Came a soft reply. Eriks eyes glowered. The ballerina squared her shoulders and lifting her head, walked pointedly to Erik and cupped his face in her hands. His breath caught at her warm touch, drinking in the scent of her cloak.

"Yes Erik. I will return. I have done nothing wrong. I have been a good girl" Erik frowned at her bitterness, and wondered why.

"And now, I must go." Odeon strode off.

"Wait, where are you going?" Odeon stopped abruptly, her back to him.

"Please Erik, stay there. I do not wish you to see me leave this time."

"Why. Please Odeon..."

"Goodnight Erik." The ballerina ran to the lake and disappeared around the corner.

Aunt Neve awoke from her doze.

'Odeon, welcome back child.' Her aunt sighed. 'The silent treatment I suppose...Odeon? Listen my dear, you did well. Understand, I had to test you, you knew how important it was. I had faith in you. I knew common sense would prevail in the end. You are stronger than you know.' Odeon squeezed her eyes tight, her chest heaving with sobs. Any passer by would just have observed a body laying on a hospital bed, Aunt Neve saw different as she held her nieces hand.

'I realise this was very hard for you, dear...Odeon? Look, I imagine I'm not your favourite person at the moment... Odeon, speak to me.' She let out another sigh. 'Well if that is how it must be for now, I'm wasting my time here. I shall return again tomorrow. Don't be too sad my pet. I'm always here for you.


	14. Chapter 14 False Justifications

Chap 14 False Justifications

Losing control was not foreign to Erik, not when it was a matter of life and death. His actions in these circumstances left him void of conscience. Survival had been the utmost of importance in the brutal days of his younger years. A conscience would have hindered his judgement, left him weak and vulnerable – just as he felt now. This was much more than the disgust he'd suffered over the bruises that were left on Odeons body by his hands. Murder was one thing, it was nothing compared to his spontaneous, disrespectful behaviour tonight.

'Dear god, what had just taken place here? Erik had tumbled into the throne and held his head in his hands.

'I'd forced Odeon to touch me. No one has ever...I have never allowed...I could never...' He said shaking his head. As always, Ebon was there to comfort his master.

"How could I do that Ebon. Those pleasures aren't for the likes of me." Erik ran a shaky hand over the silky fur, his mind juggling an assortment of emotions. Shame, guilt, regret. Regret. How could he regret this one chance at intimacy with a beautiful woman returning his passion. Shame and guilt, yes. Regret, no. It was thanks to Odeons strength that prevented what could have been disaster. Good god, he didn't know how much longer he could have held off from making her his. A shiver ran down the length of his body at the memory, her bruising kisses as fervent as his. Oh, god, he could still taste her and feel her. He ran a hand over the thigh that had been, none to gently,wedged firmly between her legs, supporting her body, her femininity resting against him. His eager palms burning at her breasts. Even when he'd captured her hands and brought them to his hardness, she hadn't pulled away. What could have motivated such obscene actions. Erik sat upright at the realisation. She hadn't pulled away. She had desired as much as he. The mask, she'd even wanted to remove his mask and touch that abomination of a face. Maybe the only thing that required guilt was the lack of a flawless face to gaze upon, he thought wryly. The more Erik tried to make sense of the nights events, the more unanswerable questions were raised, resulting in a vicious circle of confusion. The phantom wondered how he was going to face her tomorrow night. How would she receive him? Could it be her mind was in as much state of confusion as his? Odeon had certainly left a different girl to the one that had arrived, and Erik couldn't help thinking that interfering old woman had something to do with her changed attitude. All the cruelty he'd suffered in his life would never compare to what he'd feel if Odeon were forbidden to travel. The thought of never seeing her again sent a sick feeling to his stomach. What kind of hold had she over the most important person to ever enter his life? The old familiar anger started to stir. Something would have to be done about her.

Ebon broke his reverie by complaining of hunger. A welcome distraction.

"My little black beauty, what I would give to have you talk? Maybe I'd receive valuable explanations and guidance. Perhaps you could teach me some decorum and restraint." Erik stood and walked to the kitchen.

"You know, sometimes I think are far wiser than human kind put together – and that my little friend, deserves a banquet for your talents."

He was answered by a loud meow. All situations back to normal, Ebon thought to himself. Not so when the girl was here though. The feline had witnessed the misty glow coming from his masters mask as he'd placed his hand over hers. Unable to decipher weather this was positive or negative, he'd released a low whine deep in his throat, his eyes like saucers in anticipation. Ebons intuition however, did detect the influence of another party. Invisible though it was, it was one that despised his beloved master, and bore a sense of foreboding in the coming future.

Odeon couldn't rest, her phantom infiltrating every aspect of her mind and heart. There would be a myriad of questions for her aunt when next she visited. She would demand to know the reason behind the familiar sensation when he placed his hand on hers as she caressed his mask. She had touched that mask before, of that she was certain. It was the only explanation. But how? Christine had been the only person to do so, hadn't she? Christine, how she despised that weak ridiculous user. How dare she treat her beloved with such callousness and cruelty. Had he fully recovered from her, even now, she wondered.

'If I have anything to do with it, he will.' Came a definite vow. Even Aunt Neve had expressed her contempt for this creature. All through her young years, and older ones, never a positive remark was uttered, and Odeon had asked plenty of questions. It had bothered her to continually be interested in some one she found offensive, and often caught her aunt watching her like a hawk, anticipating some thought or action from her, a memory perhaps. Many times she'd questioned her about these mysterious observations, but was always met with silence and dismissive hand gestures. There was nothing to persuade Aunt Neve to talk if she chose not to. Some things she'd have to accept. Odeon's mind wandered to Erik's latest work, that most beautiful piece, and he'd written about her. Never had she dare hope he cared, even a little. For that was never the plan. That issue was forbidden – but, the phantom of the opera loved her, the little ballerina she'd given the name Odeon, there could be no doubt. Especially after the circumstances that followed. What was the significance of the dream he spoke off, paralleling her own thoughts? What lay behind the unbridled passion that overpowered them both? Dear god, only in her deepest fantasies had he kissed her like that, and she'd resigned herself to the fact that was all they'd be. Just fantasies. What could have unleashed such impulsive desires, his hands drifting over her body, leaving trails of heat that penetrated her dance wear, finally coming to rest on the fullness of her breasts. The muscular thigh that had held up her weakened frame, the pressure on her most private part, had driven her near to madness. Oh, how she had kept that sensation from him, concentrating on control, and at the same time, ignoring where her hands roamed as well – until that moment as he roughly grabbed her wrists and held her palms to his manhood. My god, he was beautiful, and all hers – the fantasy – to do with... Nagging concerns in her brain attempted to bubble to the surface, those boiling spheres of misgivings, popping droplets of warning, jolted her back to the stark reality before her, a reminder of her responsibilities. How was this going to change matters between them? How was she to confront Erik the next night? The ballerina new she wasn't a good enough actress to hide true emotions, last night had been proof. The next visit would be no different, and a repeat of tonight's actions seemed inevitable. Was she strong enough to follow through another night in the presence of her magnetic opera ghost? There would be no retracing her steps now. The dye had been cast. Her only option, to succeed in the commitment, the second chance she was fortunate enough to have been granted. To help some one she'd loved through the ages.

Aunt Neve walked the short distance to her nieces bed side the same time each night, and, as usual, that monster from the opera house played on her mind. Of course she had tested Odeon on her last visit, delighted with the outcome. A more resolute, mature girl, hopefully, would successfully complete her task, and then all this phantom nonsense could be put to rest. The wise one would at last be free to concentrate on healing the still body she'd watched over the past few weeks.

'Aunt Neve, you're late.' Odeon accused.

'My dear, it is the normal time every night. At least the silent treatment has broken I see. Most pleasing, I can assure you.' Aunt Neve reached out for her hand.

'You didn't trust me? You put me to a test last night...'

'It was that beast I didn't trust.' She interrupted.

'He is not a beast. Why can't you see that. He loves me, I know that now.'

'I don't recall the word, love, coming through.' Odeon sighed impatiently.

'Oh Aunt, you wouldn't understand.' The wise one raised an eyebrow.

'Ahhh, let me see. The elderly couldn't possibly know what young love is, I'm thinking. Or, maybe it was all so different when I was your age, hmmm.'

'Of course it's different now. How can it not be?' She insisted. Aunt Neve muttered in annoyance.

'Yes, the arrogance of youth. Your generation seems to think they invented the realms of love, sex, emotions. Something, one of my age is in complete ignorance of perhaps. Well allow me to enlighten you, my dear. There is endless information and opinions on the subject, and contrary to your belief, I was young once, and considered myself quite experienced in my time. Now, what is it you would like to know?' She asked sincerely.

'Aunt Neve that's disgusting. I don't want to hear any more.' Odeon was appalled.

I knew that would quieten you she smiled to herself, a pleasant silence had settled in the room. Odeon drew in a deep breath in her still form.

'Aunt Neve, I need to know more about Christine.' The old ladies eyes flew to her niece. The silence, no longer pleasant was replaced by the loud pealing of alarm bells.

'I have explained all I know. Please child, all through these years of endless questions, there is nothing more I can tell you. Besides, she is not worth bothering about.' Aunt Neve rambled on.

'She was just a silly naïve girl. Too young to understand adult passions and what her childish actions evoked. She married and faded from history, that is all. Now tell me, why these questions after all this time?' The ballerinas aunt had an uneasy sensation in the pit of her stomach. Something was amiss here...again.

'All right then. Erik's mask. There is something about the mask. Was Christine the only person to touch it, remove it?'

"She was.' Aunt Neve swallowed thickly. Where were these questions coming from, she wondered. What stories had that madman put into her head. 'Why drag all this up again. I have answered to the best of my ability.' She lied.

'I know...it's just...something happened when I touched the mask. I felt some sort of energy, more so when he placed his hand over mine. The connection was of importance. It radiated through me, and I'm guessing through Erik also.'

'You shouldn't be touching anything of his, and I do mean, anything Odeon.' Her aunt glared at her with outrage, causing a tinge to come to the cheeks of her niece, only she could see. Ignoring the rebuff as best she could, Odeon continued.

'It felt familiar. I had touched it before. You can't forget something so crucial, so...unique.

'I presume you are speaking of this mask?' The comatose body shrank into her bed at the coarse implication.

'Aunt Neve, please.'

'Well, at least you have the decency to be embarrassed.' Her aunt snapped.

'I don't approve of you spying on me. Not in such private matters.' She snapped back.

'I do not spy. It is your very own forces conveying your actions to me. Do you think I want to be reminded of how you seem to crave that monsters hands all over you?' Odeon opened her mouth to speak, but the wise one would not be silenced. 'and your own on him...how can you bear to touch that deformity, and I don't just mean the face. You know, if you had paid more attention to my instructions, and concentrated more on your energies, my poor mind would be blocked to your shameful behaviour. Lucky, this has not happened in one respect, as I have to continually rescue you from your own irresponsible follies.' Odeon ignored the scolding.

'The mask. Why is the mask so relevant? How is it I feel...complete, contented. Aunt Neve please, there is more to this than you're letting on. I can tell... I feel it.' She insisted.

'Aunt Neve, who was I in a past life? Was I a part of Eriks days at the opera? He's been my obsession all my life, you know that. There must be some explanation for this? Was I with him then, did I meet him, see him. I need to know. I have a right to know?' Odeon was becoming angry.

'It will do you no good forcing the issue. This may come as a surprise, but I do not have all the answers to life's mysteries child.' She hated lying to her, but for the next half hour, old questions were once again repeated, along with old answers, old theories debated, new suggestions brought forth. The out come, no different to the explanations given to her through out her up bringing. During the interrogation, Aunt Neves mind however, had been occupied with the mask situation. As soon as some peace and quiet was found the better, which prompted more unwanted, but necessary lies.

'Oh my, these questions child. I'm afraid this tired brain isn't what it used to be. I feel rather worn out.'

'Odeon. My name is Odeon.'

'As you wish my dear. Would you mind if I had an early night. This discussion has been a little...overwhelming I'm afraid.'

'NO, you can't leave. What about my travel. I promised Erik I'd return. He'll be so disappointed. Aunt Neve, he wrote the most beautiful music for me. You should have heard it. Don't you see, I'm fulfilling my duties. I've inspired him. I've started my atonement and I must continue.' Her aunt noted the anguish in her voice.

'Chi...Odeon, one night will make no difference. You needn't be in his cavern physically to inspire this so called …...genius of yours. I promise tomorrow I'll return and give you extra time, providing you stay aloof and keep to the plan. Remember, you hold more will power than you're aware off. Last night was proof, and when you travel again, you will draw on that knowledge and put it to responsible use. Never underestimate yourself my dear... Odeon. Goodnight.' Aunt Neve placed a soft kiss upon her brow. 'Tomorrow will be here sooner than you think. You'll see.'

The weariness the elderly woman faked for her niece soon dissipated as she left the hospital. The crisp night air cleared her head thankfully, preparing her brain for a solution to this mask situation that had reared up. She certainly had not anticipated such a set back.

'Yes Odeon, you are Christine...were Christine...are the reincarnation of Christine.' She wanted to shout, wished she were free to shout. Then perhaps, if all were in the open, the responsibility would gently flow onto some one else to resolve.

'A stress free life with a few tarot readings to get by. That is all I ask. My days complete in assisting the recovery of my headstrong niece. Restful years to look forward to, quality years. The one that likes to be called Odeon, now confident, contented and successful in any path of life she chooses. Is that too much to ask? Ahhh no, she wants to waste time on mending wrong doings. Wrong doings – ridiculous words. Try as I may, I couldn't convince her this present misfortune was not her fault, and now the past has intervened to complicate what should have been a cut and dried simple act of benevolence. Yes yes, maybe a stall in the markets on the week ends, selling all things mystic. People love that sort of stuff again. Yes, a peaceful, stress free life...'

Aunt Neve gratefully placed keys in the lock of her unit and sat down to a cup of hot herbal tea. Contemplating the nights conversation, the mask appeared to be the vital element in this recent development. It had never entered her mind to delve deeper into the story of Erik and Christine. There hadn't been any reason to until now.

Relaxing her body, the wise one retreated to her own personal library of insight, far below to the nooks and crannies of unimaginable, but limited knowledge. She still had much to learn and experience, in the vast wheel of existence, people on planet earth called time.

Yes, the mask had been important, but the pivotal moment came when Christine had removed it and touched the mangled flesh underneath, the moment their story was sealed forever, was when she kissed him full on the lips. Perhaps their bond went back further in the past, she mused. If so, it was too far away in time for her recognition unfortunately. Her main problem now was Odeons urgent questions about the mask connection, and worse still, her inquiry into her past existence. She loathe to think of the consequences if Odeon found out who she'd been. All the years of hard work to discourage her curiosity about Christine would be destroyed in seconds. Another frightening thought entered her reasoning. Could there be more to her niece's need for redemption? What if the need came from her past also, like a double redemption? Both Christine's, both in separate centuries. This would explain the intensity she felt towards her goal. If only she'd considered such possibilities in the beginning and did a little research into the background of this woman. The entire situation was becoming a little daunting, and she had no idea how to handle something of such potency.

Unable to sleep, the phantom sat at the organ playing their new song over and over, inciting further

questions. Why him of all people, he asked once again. Why her obvious obsession with him her whole life? How was it she even knew of the phantom of the opera, why was he so important to her? Erik marvelled at the fact he could be important to any one. It appeared love was never on the agenda. Becoming too involved was obviously the mistake she'd spoken of. Although the word was never mentioned, it was evident something had developed between them, along with the obvious sexual attraction, there existed something more profound, personal, intense, and it disturbed her greatly. It disturbed her because she was not permitted to assume, or consider or believe, not because she didn't want to. This revelation brought new anger to the phantom once more. That miserable old aunt had control over every aspect of her life. Punishing her for disobeying. Not allowing her to travel to him. What on earth could she have done in her condition to warrant such castigation. Erik stopped playing and stood in disgust at Odeons treatment. The habitual pacing was launched into and the solution soon became clear.

'It is me. I am the mistake. It has to be. Falling for me is the mistake. Touching me, wanting me. That old crone despises everything I represent. Is this some sort of pathetic jealousy? By god, how dare she keep Odeon from me. SHE KNOWS NOTHING OF ME.' He shouted sweeping a candelabra off the table in frustration.

'But, she must. Odeon knew of me. It only makes sense she knows as well.' Erik's brows knitted at this new insight.

'Just who are these people. Could it be Odeons knowledge about me is all from this aunt. If so, how does this change things? What would this old woman want with me? Is she forcing Odeon against her will?'

The sound of her name upon his lips brought back a recollection, and, finding his way to the cigar supply, lit one from the nearest candle. A unwanted thought crept into his mind. Could this be an elaborate scheme to somehow destroy him? He knew of plenty who would seek revenge, then a chuckle escaped his lips.

'Has my reputation spanned the century. My my people do hold grudges.' Enjoying his cigar he resumed his pacing to the edge of the lake and crouched down to let his fingers run through the cold water. The shock of the lakes temperature wasn't the only reason a shiver went down his spine. An uneasy sensation of deja vu, two years ago. The lake, Christine, the betrayal. He snatched his hand out and ran it through his hair as he stood.

'No, Odeon would never betray me. No one could convince my petite to do such a thing.' He murmured in a shaky voice. 'She...she loves me... doesn't she. She's here to help, not to deceive...I'd...I'd know...surely I'd see lies, if it is lies she speaks.' He swiftly made his way to the fire, longing to rid his body of the chill that had penetrated every pore, but the unwanted panic that anxiety and insecurity brought to an already fragile mind, had wedged its presence firmly into the heart of the operas hidden genius. Throwing the half smoked, expensive cigar in the fire, Erik headed for the wine cellar to indulge in yet another expensive pastime.

The following morning was met with the typical outcome of over indulgence. The opera ghost held a throbbing head in his hands as he swung his legs off the bed to stand. An annoyed glare radiated from the slits in his companions eyes.

'Ah Ebon, why do I torture myself in this way? There must be easier ways for the solution of problems. Come, milk for you and hot coffee for me, I think.' The cat saw his opportunity as he observed his masters unsteady gait, and, leaping off the bed, bolted in front of the staggering form, causing Erik to lose balance.

'SHIT Ebon. Why do you cats do these things?' Erik sat on the floor massaging his foot, both glaring at each other. The black stray wore a proud gloat as a long finger pointed accusingly at him.

'I think you've sprained my ankle, and, if I didn't know better, I could have sworn you did that on purpose.' Doing his best to stand, Erik hobbled the rest of the way to the kitchen.

There was a limit one could do while resting a damaged ankle, therefore the day spent at the organ composing. By nightfall Erik felt the uneasy stirrings of impatience and disappointment. He knew Odeon would not be here tonight as she'd promised, and he missed her more than he could have imagined. His heart sank with disappointment. Last night had been the nearest thing to bliss he'd ever felt and the idea it may be lost was more than he could bear. Something had to be done, there was no way this opportunity for happiness would be allowed to slip from his grasp.

'You belong here now Odeon. You've expressed the beauty of my domain and now all will be yours.' Erik cast his eyes around the cavern.

'As soon as I find a way of releasing you from that woman's clutches, you can start a new life...we start a new life.' He mumbled, awkwardly rising from the seat and limping to the fire. Placing himself on the lounge he stared intently into the flames.

'Any love for her will wane in time, for it is me you will love instead, and there's nothing I'd deny you. Ahh Odeon, imagine your life, free to walk, dance , talk, eat, drink...smoke your cigars if it pleases you. No more entrapment in a still, useless body and mind...and at night, I could show you Paris...only at night you must understand.' He sighed as his body sank back into the soft leather. Everything always in darkness.

'Oh but what beautiful music I'd create. Your music my little ballerina. There is nothing we couldn't achieve together...and always together...for we do belong, just as you said in my dream...we belong.' Erik felt the urge to pace, he needed to think.

'Damn you Ebon.' He winced as he tried to stand on the injured foot, but the short distance to the organ was all the phantom could manage.

'It all starts with that despicable old woman and somehow winning her trust. It is imperative Odeon sees me more tolerant toward her. I must gain her acceptance somehow.' Erik started to play softly stimulating the brain into motion. Each plan and idea unfortunately reached the same conclusion, to proceed to that reputable area of deceit and manipulation that thrived in the distorted mind of the phantom.

'Damn you old woman. You leave me no choice. Because of you I am forced to lie and mislead the only one who showed me devotion and love.' The tinkling came to a halt as he stared into the dark recesses of the cavern.

'Dear god, I'm about to repeat past mistakes. Manipulating Odeon is no different from Christine. Forcing someone against their will – but this time there is love. This time she must surely want to stay.'

Erik swiftly continued playing, drowning out the unwanted fact that Odeon had not once hinted at living in his time. He brought his splayed hands down heavy on a chord. No, that unnecessary thought was promptly blamed on the aunt, his little muse was not permitted an opinion. His outrage of Odeons situation soon turned to anger followed by steadfast determination. The musicians fingers replaced the brooding footfalls of long confident strides, resulting in a dark ominous rhythm, with even darker lyrics. The phantoms lips twisted in a malicious grin as the new song was completed.

'Not one for you ears this time my little ballerina... no. This is strictly dedicated to one with upcoming grave misfortunes I predict. Ahh, old woman, when you sent me Odeon for inspiration, the content of my writings were never discussed as I recall.' Erik sat back in proud satisfaction.

'I HOLD POWER IN MY MUSIC.' He shouted. 'Do you hear. I will not be denied again. The end justifies the means.'

Connected through the years, your presence interferes

Controls her every move, and you know I don't approve

Her secrets that you keep, while her body lays asleep

No more I'll be denied, she makes me come alive...she's mine.

Her story goes untold, by the power that you hold

So now I'll challenge you, your bewitching I'll undo

And I'll promise you'll regret, forever in my debt

I'll no longer have her hide, to me she comes alive...she's mine.

All enchantments you employ, the phantom can destroy

Will lay useless and unheard, and everything you've learned

Is banished and forgotten, abandoned left unspoken

Then you'll understand and find, in my time she will reside...she's mine.

Dangerous confusion, follow false illusion

To experience the worst, for it's you that will be cursed

You'll fear the phantoms wrath, before you're put to death

Then I'll possess what's mine, complete and undeniably...MINE


	15. Chapter 15 Passed Future

Chap 15 Past Future

Madam Giry was not looking forward to descending into the caverns where the phantom dwelt. She hoped Erik would be in a good mood as a delicate subject had to be addressed, plus, she was well aware of the opera ghosts uncanny ability of detecting lies. It was never her intention to deceive Erik, just a minute evasion of the truth would suffice. The far off strains of organ music last night were always a good indication. When he was composing, usually a good temperament followed, especially if that Odeon was present.

"Good morning Erik." The fake cheeriness faded as the ballet mistress noticed a candelabra laying on the cavern floor.

"What now. This is all I need." She mumbled.

"Erik, where are you?" A movement from the leather lounge caught her eye. "Did you sleep there all night?"

"Madam Giry, always a pleasant surprise, and yes, it seems to have been my choice of sleeping arrangements." He said sitting up.

Bending down to replace the fallen, or more likely, thrown object, she dare ask.

"What is this candelabra doing on the floor?" Stifling a yawn he replied.

"The candelabra? What candel...Ahhhh, that candelabra. Well, the most extraordinary thing occurred just as I happened to walk by. It appeared to rise off the table, flew through the air and...landed over there somewhere." He concluded, pointing to no where in particular.

"Indeed."

"Oh yes, I was almost caught in it's path." He stipulated as he tried to stand. "Yes Madam, I could have suffered serious injuries. I was lucky." He turned to his friend with a twinkle in his eye. "This place really is haunted."

"Don't be absurd. What have you done to your foot. Something in connection with the piece of silverware I presume. You deserve no sympathy for you violent outbursts, Erik." Madam Giry knitted her eyebrows in annoyance. This was not getting off to a good start.

"Two entirely different incidences, I can assure you. Anyhow it's mending nicely. I thank you from the bottom of my heart for your concern. Would you like some coffee?" He inquired.

"Yes, that would be lovely, but you can't..."

"Of course I can't. You'll have to make it yourself...you know how mines made." Madam Giry huffed at his flippancy as she flounced to the kitchen.

"One again, thank you, you are too kind." He shouted after her. Erik walked gingerly to the organ, sat down and lightly ran through his new song.

"What an unusual piece of music." She stated bringing in two cups of steaming coffee. Erik, however, had stopped mid play, and an uneasy atmosphere hung in the air. The opera ghost and his shiny black companion were glaring intensely at each other, neither moved. As the situation in front of her became clear, she was unable to hide a smile.

"Ah, I see." She said placing the coffee on the table. The cat let out a welcome meow as she tickled him under his chin. "Now I'm beginning to understand."

"Don't touch that fiend, he deserves no affection." He stated pointing a long accusing finger at the animal.

"Oh, you poor kitty. Have you been fed today?"

"Not by my hand." Came a cool reply.

"Erik, how could you. Come, let's see what we can find for you."

"That animal nearly ruined me." He bellowed towards the kitchen.

"Good boy. You're a good boy." She crooned laying some food in his dish. "Serves that old grouch right." Returning to her coffee, Madam Girys mind flashed with images of the incident. The fearsome, all powerful Phantom of the Opera, brought to his knees by a mischievous feline. Unsuccessful at containing her laughter, she spluttered on her coffee. Erik slowly raised his head and turned to her.

"Something to your amusement Madam?"

"Oh Erik, sometimes you're just like a little boy. I prefer you this way." She replied.

"I fail to see the attraction of one portraying a child at my age. What a ridiculous thought process you must harbour." He stated haughtily.

"Do you need medical attention." She tried to be serious.

"Certainly not Madam. I am in excellent health as are my bones and cartilage. I shall be swinging off chandeliers tomorrow." Which brought her to the present, she steered the conversation toward the true reason for her visit. With some uncertainty she proceeded.

"Erik, some important people will be arriving in the next few days to look over the renovations I presume, and..."

"Oh that is excellent. Excellent. Things must be progressing well." He interrupted.

"Yes...yes, very well indeed."

"I see no problem with that."

"Did I say there was a problem?" She quickly replied.

"No. You didn't say a word. Body language Madam...tells me otherwise." The phantoms velvety voice made her fidget.

"Don't be so paranoid Erik. There is no problem...yet." He raised his eyebrows.

"Yet. What do we mean by...yet?" The tall body unfolded itself from the organ seat and limped to her side.

"Well." He purred.

"Erik, I don't want these people scared away by your antics. The opera ghost rumours have settled down since the incident with the foreman. I simply don't want to have to explain unnecessary sightings or noises. That is all." She reasoned.

"Hmmm...I see." Erik somehow managed to look graceful as he hobbled around the edgy ballet mistress, searing his eyes to hers.

"Is that all I wonder?"

"Yes, of course. What else?" Came a strained reply. Erik placed his hand on his chin thought.

"What else?...Oh I haven't worked out...else...yet...but I will." He replied wagging a finger.

"Oh, this is nonsense. Why must you be so difficult at times?"

"Because it has proven to be useful in the past dear woman. Tends to make people squirm...puts them off guard." He said seriously.

"Oh you're impossible to reason with. I only wanted these visitors to leave without the thought of a haunted opera house on their mind." She said exasperated.

"Oh, but it may be good for business." He stated. Madam Giry looked horrified.

"Erik, you wouldn't...please don't even think...we can't afford another delay."

"Then all you had to do was ask." He replied in a wide eyed innocent stare. "Your wish is my command Madam." The opera ghost mock bowed.

"Oh, really Erik." She said impatiently. "I have work to do. I bid you good day."

"And a good day to you to Madam." The mockery on the phantoms face dissolved as soon as the ballet mistress departed, his eyes narrowed into slits of suspicion.

"My, my. What a terrible actress your are my friend. What is it you are keeping from me? What lies have my poor unfortunate ears had to endure?"

Madam Giry stumbled back from the depths of the catacombs and headed straight to her office. Oh dear, that didn't go well at all, she feared. I've only made matters worse by peaking his curiosity and now he's bound to appear. Dear god, there is no way any good can come of this. Why didn't I just remain silent. It is vital no more ghost stories are made public. As far as anyone knows the ghost disappeared two years ago. His latest antics with the foreman were fortunately dismissed by the police, due to alcohol consumption. Sitting down at her desk, an idea began to form. Maybe Ebon did her a favour after all. Erik would certainly be unable to make the journey to the street level floors. Yes there was enough time.

"Good boy Ebon." She once again repeated as she prepared to call a meeting of all staff and dancers.

"All right everybody. Can I have silence please." This sudden meeting had the gathering abuzz with excitement and anticipation. Giggles and hushed whispers filled the air, causing Madam Giry to take action. Her audience jumped violently as the cane thumped loudly on the floor. All eyes turned to the stern glare from the ballet mistress.

"Thank you. In the next few days, the opera house is expecting some important guests." A murmur of voices drifted through the gathering.

"Silence please. These visitors will be inspecting the progress of the renovations, therefore I need everyone of you to be on your best behaviour. For reasons which I cannot divulge, it is imperative you must remain silent."

Madam Giry purposely glared into the eyes of every individual before her.

"The subject of these guests is strictly forbidden to be discussed or even whispered about. Whether it be in the corridors, dressing rooms or even outside the opera house. This up coming visit must remain a complete secret. This is of utmost importance, and I hope I can rely on every bodies discretion. Anyone found disobeying these orders will be severely dealt with by instant dismissal. Do I make myself absolutely clear.?" The crowd shifted uneasily.

"Do I make myself clear?" She repeated loudly.

"Yes, Madam Giry." They chorused.

"Thank you. You may go about your duties." The ballet mistress watched the crowd disperse. I hope I've done the right thing, she thought. There appeared to be no other option. It was for the benefit of all involved.

Erik brooded over the visit from Madam Giry. He had attempted to climb the steep walkways and uneven stairs to the street level but the pain from his injured foot made it impossible. The was no choice but to rest, leaving his mind free to conjure up all sorts of covert activity taking place above without his supervision.

"Damn that woman, placing suspicions in my head. There is more to this than just foppish meddlers intruding in my opera. Tomorrow, all will be healed enough, and then Madam, we shall discover the reason behind your efforts of deception. Ahh, for once I will relish the incessant chit chat that pours forth from the mouths of mindless gossips."

The hours before Odeons arrival were spent at the organ attempting to write more pieces of music. His attention however, was continually disrupted by the awareness of what had taken place between them the night before. How was he expected to keep her at a distance after such intimacy. Yet he had no option. That aunt must never suspect anything amiss. If he was going to lure Odeon to his side forever, gaining the old woman's trust was vital, especially now he'd acknowledged her fury was directed at himself. Erik walked back to his lounge to take the pressure off his mending ankle. He drifted into a peaceful slumber, unaware his arm had automatically cradled a mass of silky black fur that had settled down beside him.

Erik had been pacing by the edge of the underground lake. The usual anxiety accompanied him while waiting for Odeon's arrival. His stomach tightened in knots, preparing for disappointment if she did not show. Adding to this fear, was the detachment he'd have to apply in her presence. How would this affect them both, how much hurt would have to be endured? Bitter hatred bubbled inside for the old woman forcing him into taking such drastic action.

"Erik." The phantom abruptly stopped pacing at the sound of his name behind him. He turned swiftly, a lump forming in his throat at the vision of her running toward him. Her face awash with smiles, her hair and the fine material of her ballet skirt, billowing around, gave the impression of weightlessness. She ploughed into the powerful figure, flinging her arms around his neck.

"Did you miss me? Please tell me you missed me." Her face was pressed against his chest as he effortlessly lifted her tiny body into a spin. He deeply inhaled the familiar smell of her hair. Dear god, she had been so ecstatic to see him. How incredible that felt. Erik's heart pounded with joy as his strong arms held her tighter.

"Odeon, you are missed every second once you leave me." Erik buried his head in her hair, running his fingers through the long strands. How was he going to keep her at arms distance now.

"That's what I want to hear." She said happily as she crushed a welcoming wet kiss to his lips, throwing her aunts warning to the wind once more. Surely there was no harm in a hello peck on the cheek, she convinced herself. Erik was overcome by her spontaneous passion, and for a moment, all pre laid plans drained from his mind. For that moment, no plans would be necessary. She was home and in his arms forever. For that moment, he returned her eager kiss, savouring how wonderful it felt to embrace her once again.

"Oh yes, you were definitely missed." He repeated, giving her a final bear hug before releasing her small frame. Hating himself for what he was about to do, the phantom deliberately turned his back. The last thing Erik needed was for Odeon to read the pain in his eyes.

"Last night was my fault I'm afraid. I exhausted my aunts energy resources." The ballerina explained frowning a little as she ran after him.

"Oh, and how would you do that." He tried his best to sound detached.

"By asking too many emotional questions." Odeon had followed him to the lounge and sat so close, she could feel the hard muscle in his thigh pressed against hers.

"But, I get extra time with you tonight. Isn't that wonderful?" Erik immediately shifted away from the contact.

"This being your reward I presume." He stated. Odeon had closed the space between them, causing Erik to rise to his feet and walk to the organ. An uneasy frown furrowed her brow.

"In a way. Erik, is something wrong? Are you displeased with me for some reason? Why are you limping?" The phantom ran a hand over his hair as he placed himself down in front of the organ. His ankle was the least of his concerns.

"No my petite, I'm not displeased with you at all. It is you aunt that is displeased with me. Am I correct?" A soft tinkling came from his fingers.

"I...no, how can she. She doesn't know you." Erik gave a loud snort and remained silent. "Has something happened? Erik, you're scaring me." Odeon had walked to where he was seated and placed her hand on his shoulder, feeling him tense at her touch. He swivelled in the seat to face her and grasped her small hands.

"Odeon, you are the most important person ever to enter my life. I've spent the last couple of days thinking of nothing else. Now, I know you've spoken in the past of limited time with me..." The ballerina opened her mouth to speak.

"Please, hear me out. This time limit. I take it to mean having an opera completed once the renovations are finished." He watched her eyes widen with disquiet as she shook her head. "There is no need for concern. I can do this Odeon...with you beside me I can accomplish anything. I have written so much. The only problem now is to find a story to conform with my music...and that will be happen, I promise." She sighed in relief, her worried features were replaced with a proud smile.

"I..."

"Shh...let me continue." He shifted awkwardly on the seat. "This is important Odeon. I want...I need you with me...always." His eyes seared into hers, as he did his best to put on a sincere face and keep the bitterness from showing through.

"Which brings me back to your aunt. She appears to punish you, as you phrase it, whenever we have...whenever I have..." Erik cursed himself for rambling. "Well, what happened with us the other night...Damn. Odeon, it is obvious your aunt despises me for some reason..." He dropped her hands and stood to walk to the fire. Taking a deep breath he continued.

"I cannot.. will not... risk upsetting her...falling out of her favour again. You realise what this entails don't you. I can't bear the times when you're not with me and if that means keeping you at a distance, then it is a sacrifice I'm willing to endure." He turned to fix his sad green eyes into hers. "It is a choice I'd rather fulfill, than have you forbidden to travel." Odeon eyes filled with tears. Waking over to her, he placed his hands gently on her shoulders.

"For to know you existed...somewhere in time, unable to communicate, would be a slow, cruel death for me. I imagine it would be like a torturous descent into madness. Something I am not willing to experience." The ballerina had remained silent.

"It won't be that bad, you'll see. He emphasised. "You realise I speak the truth don't you? Odeon, please say something." Erik swallowed hard, lifting her chin to gaze into her blue eyes. Had he gone too far, said something out of order?

"Yes Erik, you speak the truth. It was forbidden to become...intimate." He gripped her shoulders tighter.

"Yes, but don't you see. If we can obey all your aunts wishes, she's bound to change her opinion about me. If I can prove to her I'm not the monster she sees...we...we'll be free to be together. Together Odeon." He shook her shoulders. "Down here...just imagine, free to walk and...and dance... no more laying in a still body...free to express our love..." Her eyes widened. "Yes, Odeon. I said love. Surely you must..." Odeon broke from his hold, shaking her head anxiously.

"No...no...Erik, you don't understand." She placed a hand over her mouth.

"What is it I don't understand?"

"Oh god, it's all my fault." Her eyes searched his. How had it come to this, she thought. You are totally misguided and it's all my fault for not explaining the whole picture, but you could never begin to understand their ways Erik. I can't fully understand and I was raised under their influence. Oh my dear, darling Erik, this can never be. How can I tell you how impossible this is? The time limit was never about the opening of the opera house. It was my time, the limited amount of time I had with you before I die, and now you speak of spending the rest of our lives together. You speak of love for me.

"Odeon, tell me. What is it I don't understand." He pleaded. "Now it is you who is scaring me."

A long silence prevailed. Both facing each other, both hesitating, both needing the other to utter something, anything, to ease the uncertainty that infiltrated every nerve in their bodies. Odeon was the first to speak.

"You spoke of walking. Aunt Ne...my aunt only hinted of maybe healing me. I'd never given it another thought after finding you. You were all that mattered." How did I let that slip my mind, she thought. If Aunt Neve can heal me...I cannot travel any more. I will be out of my coma. You and I remain in different centuries as before and I...we won't...can't... her mind rambled. The phantom reached for her but she avoided his touch.

"Surely... that is good news. Oh Odeon, to have you walk..."

"Erik, look at me, I am walking." She interrupted.

"Well, yes..."

"Listen to me. I am walking, yes, but in your time. Not mine." He knitted his brows in confusion.

"I fail to understand the problem." The ballerinas eyes clouded. She looked through him, absently walking towards the fire, deep in thought.

"Odeon?" Erik was alarmed as he followed her, but he needed answers and answers he'd get. "What is it you're not telling me? Do you think me unworthy of an explanation? Talk to me. Don't leave me in more darkness that I am already doomed to live in." He roughly caught her arm and swung her around to face him. Slowly she brought her head up to meet his eyes.

"There may be a way." She said softly. The phantom witnessed a myriad of emotions come and go in her blue orbs. Intelligence, fear, doubt, sadness, triumph...love. All igniting his appetite for more answers.

"A way for what. Odeon, you know I'm not a patient man. I demand to know what the hell you're talking about. No more secrets. If we are to share a life..."

"Yes, if we are to share a life..." The ballerina was lost in thought once again.

"Odeon." He shouted, shaking her arm.

"Erik, I have an idea, but I need to think it through. Please, you have to trust me on this. No more questions tonight. Can you do this for me." Her eyes pleaded with his. "This is very important for the both of us. Please." Erik hesitated.

"All right, no more questions...but I don't like it." He released her arm from his grasp.

"I know." She placed her hands on his face. "Do you trust me with this?" Erik took a deep breath and wrapped his arms around his little intruder, rocking her side to side.

"Yes my petite. I trust you. What is it you would have me do."

"Right now, I think it best we go with your reasoning and keep my aunt happy. There is much I have to learn from her without making her suspicious...and that, I'm afraid, means untangling me from those beautiful strong arms of yours...unfortunately."

"I've never had my arms described so poetically. You have the ability to make a man feel six feet tall."

"You are six feet tall, maybe taller."

"Am I? Most interesting." She reluctantly slide her arms from his warm body.

"Well, I knew there would be sacrifices." He said with a little smile. "No intimacy."

"For now." She replied with a mischievous grin. "Just do what you do best Erik. Compose...and I will dance."

Which is what both attempted to do to the best of their ability. Unfortunately, separate minds dwelt on the same predicament. At times Erik, unable to produce anything worth recording, would follow her every move. Her beauty and gracefulness, lulled him into a tranquil reverie where no schemes or deception had to be executed for a peaceful life. A bit like the opera house roof, the phantoms own personal limbo he treasured. A refuge in a world between worlds, to escape harsh realities that existed below. Still, as much as this serenity was welcome, music had to be produced, and nothing was developing in the mind of the genius. Odeon was well aware of those green orbs observing every step she took. Her heart ached to hold him. He seemed so lost and helpless. Incapable of composing anything new. Much like herself. She danced, but only repetitive leaps and turns etc. Inspiration non existent for them both. The ballerinas lack of enthusiasm however, was due to her mind on other important matters. Questions, answers, decisions, sacrifices, consequences. It seemed ridiculous to continue, besides her toes were beginning to hurt. Odeon walked over to the organ and sat down on the floor beside her phantom.

"You're supposed to be concentrating on writing music, not on me." She said taking off her ballet pointes.

"I know." He sighed. "But you look so amazing out there. My mind has no discipline when you dance." He gave her an affectionate smile. "Do your feet hurt?"

"Yes, a little. I appeared to have overlooked a small problem. If I don't have new pointes I'll end up like you with a limp. What happened to you anyway?" She asked rubbing her toes. Erik cleared his throat, ignoring the question.

"Then I shall have to supply you with new ones. Come, sit on the lounge, not the floor. Show some decorum woman."

"All dancers sit on the floor where I come from."

"I do not doubt that at all." In one powerful swoop Odeon was on her feet being escorted to the lounge.

"Stay there and I shall get us both a drink. I think I speak for both of us. Our so called talents appear to think we are not worthy of their efforts tonight."

As Erik disappeared to the wine cellar, his melancholy aura had settled around his little muse as well. There was so much uncertainty about their future and it was up to her alone to strive for a solution. Therefore a sombre atmosphere settled around them. Occasionally words were spoken here and there, but most of the time they sat in silence, grateful for the opportunity of their time together. Both deep in thought, with Odeon eventually falling asleep on his shoulder, as did Erik soon after.

Never the less, the visit had to end at some stage. Odeon felt the familiar tingle through out her body as she gently shook Erik from his doze.

"Erik, it's time. I have to leave." She whispered. He opened his eyes slowly, and raised a hand to caress her cheek. "Already." He said, unfolding his tall frame from the lounge. The ballerina softly took his arm.

"Come, walk with me to the lake." Odeon picked up her cloak where it was always discarded when she arrived.

"Good night Erik, and don't worry, things will be sorted out. I promise. You seem to be walking a little better I see." She remarked as the pin pricks of light invaded her body. As usual Erik looked on in total fascination of the phenomenon.

"You never did explain your injury. What happened." Her voice was starting to fade. Erik sighed and placed his hands in his pockets.

"I tripped over the cat." Came the simple,sheepish explanation. The last sound he heard from Odeon were the ethereal peals of giggles as they echoed throughout the cavern.

"Once more my misfortunes are the cause for such amusement." He stated loudly to the empty room. Spying the abandoned ballet shoes, his brow furrowed in mild annoyance as he bent down to retrieve them. "And don't leave you mess around my domain. Do try a little etiquette woman."

Erik woke early the next morning with a warm fluffy bundle beside him.

"You really have convinced yourself all is forgiven, haven't you. Twice now you have crept to my side for a warm spot." Ebon replied with a yawn and a meow. "But, I will hold you personally responsible if any thing is amiss in my theatre. Because of you, I was unable delve into the secrecy that has invaded it's walls."

He dressed quickly as he could to catch the early workers. It would be a laborious journey to street level with stairs and sloped tunnels, not to mention the narrow passages and booby traps. Leaving the lair, he passed over the area where Odeon had left the night before, reminding him of her echoing laughter.

"Little Minx." He muttered with a smile. Oh, how she could make him smile. If it wasn't for a healing ankle, Erik would have had a spring in his step that morning. He couldn't imagine life without her. Not now, not ever. Never the less, what ever problems they had to work out would have to take a back seat for now. It was vital he keep his concentration on the immediate issues within the opera house. He opened the small hidden door in box five and lovingly gazed down on the scene below. The red velvet seating, his beloved stage. What masterpieces will be sung right before me in months to come? He thought excitedly. My opera house bigger and brighter than ever before. Erik glanced at the new chandelier that had replaced the mangled wreck of that night years ago.

"And you, my beautiful piece de resistance, shall have no cause to be displaced again. You will shine, magnificent and proud, for ever vigilant from your loft, the talk of all Paris." He whispered. "For we have both survived, risen from destruction. Our old wounds have been healed, creating a far stronger power force than ever." Giving the chandelier a wink, Erik left box five and continued on his way. Was that a slight tinkling of acknowledgement emanating from above? What a pity no one was below to witness the alliance between a chandelier and a ghost.

Erik moved to other areas of the theatre via the many secret passages he'd constructed earlier in his years there. His conscience totally void of any guilt upon spying on the unsuspecting. It was no different to the public peering at the human oddity that was chained in the small cage as they travelled from town to town. The masses were the same. All came with pointing fingers, mocking laughter, horror stricken faces. The daring ones brought along various foul and cruel objects that continually assailed his emaciated body. Heavy objects, sharp objects. All deliberately hurled just for the fun of it – most times, just to make him angry, make him move. His body was wracked with an involuntary shudder at the memory of the humiliation. No, no different at all. The flawless are unaware off my eyes, but they are never the less still peered at – like I was. Besides, this way is more agreeable I think. Now it is I who has the advantage of who is to be humiliated and tortured. No, nothing different, just a bit of a roll reversal.

Erik's instincts had been correct, something was amiss. Madam Giry appeared to be walking on egg shells, jittery hands continually checked her perfectly groomed hair, while the ballet rats scuttled here and there, attempting to keep up with her unreasonable demands. Yes, my dear Madam, a bad actress indeed, he thought shaking his head. What news could have the stern, disciplined but kindly, ballet mistress aflutter. Moving on, the workmen were also acting odd. They were going about their business with the utmost efficiency, no lagging behind, no sneaky swigs of their cheap alcohol. No talking.

"Intriguing." Erik whispered to himself. "Most intriguing. It's almost like I've given them a bloody good scare. Perhaps I have competition. I really must learn their secret." He thought devilishly. More people came and went from view, workers, staff, dancers. All remained silent, sometimes though, knowing looks passed between each other. Perhaps I will try the Giry girl, he thought.

Erik had deliberately kept his distance from his friends daughter. He had not wanted to frighten her. She'd been aware of the phantoms existence through her mother as she grew up, and had kept the secret to herself. He liked to think Meg had come to help him escape from the mob two years ago, after all she had made her own way down to the lair, found the mask, and had remained silent. Most of all, she had been kind to Christine all through the years, for which he had been eternally grateful. But that was all over now. His protege, his first love, was gone, depriving the world of that magnificent voice. That bastard Raoul secluding her in some country manor, no doubt. Pompous ass.

It was your choice Christine, he wanted to shout. But what could he have offered her. Then, perhaps a solution could have been found once.

"If only you could have given us some time." He whispered. "Dear God, why am I letting her invade my mind again. Why now of all times." The phantom drew in a deep breath. Odeon, just concentrate on Odeon, your new little muse, and how she's inspired you. Her loyalty far surpasses Christines. Erik continued on his way through the passages, vowing never to allow her to penetrate his mind again. Odeon deserves that devotion now.

Meg had now been promoted as assistant teacher to her mother. She sat at the ballet mistresses desk jotting down notes for a new dance sequence that had sprung to mind. Keeping out of sight was the best option when Mama was in an agitated frame of mind, and this time, she had good reason to be. The phantom watched in the the shadows as Meg placed her hands under her chin, a broad grin spreading across her face.

Ah, now we may be getting somewhere, he thought, noticing the dancers eyes continually glance at the clock. Or maybe it was ideas for a new style of ballet she wanted to create, a subject Erik was quite familiar with. He had been entertained by their constant arguing about the classic dance. Good luck, little Giry, he smiled, you have your work cut out for your with the stubborn ballet marm. Giving up on discovering any more information, he decided to wait in box five for the visitors. An assembly of toffs no doubt. Come to ohh and ahh and generally make inane chatter about beautiful this, and lovely that – neither one possessing any true knowledge of the profound essence an opera embraces.

"And here they come now, coiffed and caped. Over privileged spouses, their jewel en-clustered hands possessively clutching the immaculate clad arms of their flawless husbands. About twelve strutted their way through the aisles, politely nodding, applying fake smiles he would imagine – grateful he was in a position where it was impossible to gaze upon the faces of society he despised. Erik soon grew bored of the entire scene below. Perhaps he'd read too much in Madam Girys explanation, allowed his mind to become over suspicious, and now, even little Giry stood in the wings, her hands clasped together at her breast in excitement.

"Ah, little Giry, these buffoons are not worthy of your adoration. If you lay dying in the street they would walk on by pretending not to see." He said as Meg impulsively ran onto the stage. Squeals of delight floated up to Eriks ears as he shook his head in disbelief at her enthusiasm. Eager to abandon the whole pathetic scene, he turned on his heal, and dismissed the small crowd below with a swish of his cape.

"Christine, Christine." Meg cried. The figure that roamed the hidden passageways came to an abrupt halt, its body drawing up to full height. The black fedora turned in slow motion, ears straining to capture the voices that drifted up from below. The vacant eyes by now had already withdrawn to a time when this very opera house hosted the most perfected voice mankind would ever hear.

"Chhhrrriiiisssstine." Came an angelic whisper that settled like a fine mist over the people that stood in the aisles – but was heard by only one.

.


	16. Chapter 16 Misguided Impulse

Chap 16 Misguided Impulse

"ANTOINETTE." The ballet mistress visibly jumped as she sat at her desk, her hands holding a pounding head. The entire room seemed to have dropped in temperature, a shudder rippled throughout her body, while colour drained from her face.

"Erik." Nerves already stretched to the limit, she watched him slowly raise an arm, pointing a long finger in her direction. Keeping his eyes glued to hers, the limb moved and came to a halt on the office door.

"LOCK IT." He barked. Madam Giry stood quickly and with shaking fingers managed to turn the key.

"SIT." He commanded.

"Erik, let me expl..."

"SIT DOWN." The long out stretched finger appeared to burn through her eyes demanding obedience. She scuttled to her chair, thankful for the support it gave her trembling legs.

"Erik, hear me out. I was only..."

"SILENCE." The arm that had followed her back to the chair, slowly came to rest at his side, only to expose the rage with each intake of breath. Quick and silent as a cat he glided across the room placing white knuckles upon the polished wood of the desk. The menacing figure appeared to loom over her like a huge pre historic animal cornering its prey, making her cringe deep into the seat.

"How dare you." Came a deep, venomous voice. Unable to look into his blazing orbs, she concentrated on the nervous twitching of her fingers.

"Look at me." His voice cracked as if someone had stepped on ice. Slowly, Madam Giry raised her head, her lip trembled as tears escaped from her eyes.

"Tears." The voice spat in disgust.

"I am immune to tears." He hissed. "Whether the reason be fear, sorrow, regret. Or in your case, I presume, for the mere fact you were caught out. Unsuccessful with your lies."

"I did not lie to you." The phantoms chest continued to heave.

"Do not try and hide behind pathetic excuses ANTIONETTE." The powerful force of his fist as it slammed into the table, made the various objects that lay atop leap into the air.

"Did you honestly think I would remain unaware of her visit?" Madam Giry let out a long sigh.

"No. I knew you were bound to find out. I just thought...It was a mistake. I"m sorry."

"Oh yes." He snarled. "One vast mistake...from you of all people." The ballet mistress lowered her head.

"What are you going to do?" She asked in a quite voice.

"I don't know." He turned his back in disgust taking a few steps away from the desk.

"WHAT DO YOU PERCEIVE AS ADEQUATE PUNISHMENT FOR YOUR CRIMES?" Came the roar as he reeled on her. His breathing remained deep and threatening.

"Not me...Christine."

"That is none of your concern." He once again jabbed the long finger in her direction.

"I was only thinking of what was best..."

"You conspired to keep her from me...my Christine." Erik brought his fist to his heart.

"She's not yours Erik. That was the very reason I..."

"Told me lies." He interrupted. Madam Giry ignored him.

"What about this Odeon?" She had never wanted to bring Odeons name up in this situation, especially after what she had witnessed the other night on the stage. She was grasping at straws she had to admit. The phantom walked to where she sat, and glared down on her with disdain.

"I can't bear to look at you now." He fumed. "I'll deal with you later." With a flutter of his cape, Erik disappeared as quickly as he'd arrived. Madam Giry lowered her head to the desk top.

"Dear god, what have I started?" She sobbed.

Erik placed his back to the wall of the hidden passage for support. He closed his eyes letting out a deep sigh. Mixed emotions of anger and elation merged as he tried to calm the thudding of his heart. Two years and not a word and now suddenly, she's back. How could he not have sensed her presence in that small gathering. From above, the women in their bonnets had all looked the same, but surely something...

"Christine." He whispered, savouring the sound of her name. Recovering a little from his onslaught with Madam Giry, another frantic thought flashed through his mind. Erik ran through the passages until he reached the hollow column for box five. Climbing the narrow stairs, he peered out of the hidden space he'd created, one of many vantage points to observe an opera without being detected. The area below by now was deserted and silent, void of its previous occupants.

"No." He breathed. "Nooo, they've gone. My one chance to have her so near again. My Christine." He silently shouted as his frenzied eyes scoured the empty aisles. "Damn you Giry, it is all your fault. Why didn't you leave well enough alone. I didn't even catch a glimpse of her face." A tear ran down between his cheek and the mask. Nothing mattered now. He fumbled for the lever that allowed the concealed partition to open into box five. Stepping out to gaze upon the empty theatre dashed all expectations. No remnants of human activity lingered in the giant room. He leaned into the wall near the balcony and buried his face in the red velvet curtain as it captured his silent tears. Erik would have scoffed at the notion, fate could toss him good fortune at times. Never the less, as he sunk to his knees, still clutching at the curtain, the crowd had returned, and those interested enough, were escorted onto the stage. The mumble of voices floated up to box five, its occupant, wanting to place more distance between ghost and the human race, crawled back into the hollow pillar. It never crossed his mind, the disappointment that had left him weak, causing him to sink to his knees, had also concealed the presence of the operas resident phantom. Before he departed, he placed piercing green orbs to the spy hole, one last glance at those he despised. Everyday, normal citizens, free to come and go at will, free to display their flawless features to the world, to seek sunshine and companionship, all smug and secure in the privilege that beauty and power brings. How he loathed these creatures, even through the blurred vision his tears created, their perfect faces were imprinted on his mind.

"Go on Erik." He growled to himself. "Feast your eyes on the unimpaired, the pure. Their presence, a constant reminder of what you can never be, and your eternal punishment for wanting." He tore his eyes away to glance at the exquisite accomplice suspended from the ceiling, willing a repeat of two years ago. Let the unblemished below experience deformed flesh and scars. Let me witness your suffering from horrified stares and gasps, the pointing fingers, the mocking laughter, the loathsome, contemptible glare from those who think the deformed not worthy of taking up precious space on earth. Erik's tear filled eyes dried up as anger replaced sorrow. A clear vision of two people walking onto the stage caught his attention. One, the familiar figure of the little Giry girl, the other, the familiar figure forever etched in his heart. Although her back was turned to him and a brilliant bonnet concealed long brown curls, Eriks heart hammered against his ribcage.

"Christine...oh Christine, you came back." He whispered. As if on queue, the bonnet slowly turned toward box five to reveal a beautiful porcelain face surrounded by dark brown wavy hair. Erik's breath caught in his throat as blue eyes appeared to lock onto his, through that small space he'd created in the pillar long ago. He subconsciously raised a trembling hand willing it to reach her face.

"Dear god, she knows I'm here." He gasped and watched as those perfect features slowly turned away and disappeared behind a mass of satin and tulle.

"She senses I'm near, that I watch over her the minute she returns. Ah Christine, nothing has changed. It's been two years, yet you still seek me out." Erik's eyes were closed in bliss, oblivious to the other visitors and their enthusiastic murmurs. Meg and Christine had moved off the stage to join the rest as they entered more refurbished rooms. How he dearly loved to be closer, but hidden passageways came with limited access to the individual. Madam Giry had appeared with formal polite smiles for the gathering, while tactfully removing her daughter from Christines side, casting an anxious glance around the room.

"Oh yes Madam Giry, I watch and wait." He hissed, noticing that no Vicomte rushed to Christines side to claim her. In fact Christine appeared to be on her own, blending in with the discrete nods from various bobbing bonnets. Occasionally, her head would turn timid blue eyes to the ceiling and walls, searching.

"Christine." The phantom choked out her name. "Can it be me you look for?" Erik followed her from room to room, praying she may step closer to the wall that separated them.

And then what? He asked himself. A chance to see that perfect figure just inches away, to lose himself in those blue orbs, to feast his eyes on that flawless, exquisite face. His fingers burned to run through the softness of those dark brown curls, taste her sweetness as his lips gently brushed hers – only to have her disappear from his life once more. He pushed the thought from his mind and placed trembling palms against the wall.

"Christine." He whispered desperately, fingers naturally curled and turned claw like, as if to scratch down any barrier between them.

"Oh my Christine." Was the whisper too loud, did a few seconds of frantic scratching attract the attention of his once, angel of music? Erik's eyes widened in anticipation as she whipped her head round to stare directly at the blank wall that concealed him. His heart pounded wildly in his ears as he trailed after the moving crowd, observing as Christine disengaged herself to lurk near the walls, eyes alert, ears straining for any tell tale sight or sound.

Erik was sure he forgot how to breathe as mere inches separated them. After all this time, she could still drive him insane with her closeness. The faint perfume of her hair infiltrated the small gap in the wall causing, Erik to seek a deep intake of precious air. Bliss was short lived as an unpleasant and unwanted thought invaded his mind. The Vicomte. The thought of that milksop brought back some semblance of reality. New hurt flamed in his heart and anger boiled in his stomach at the memory. So, how was he supposed to react when Christine suddenly darted out of sight from the others into an adjoining room, closing the door firmly behind her. With his heart in his throat he witnessed her silent pacing, eyes and ears still alert, but never the less, his name remaining unuttered from her lips. Erik then chided himself for his foolishness and almost laughed out loud. Christine didn't know his name, had never even asked his name. Odeon had known it. A flicker of guilt rippled in his body. Odeon had not crossed his mind since learning Christine was back in his opera. Odeon - he quickly discarded her memory to concentrate on more important matters before him. The phantom scowled in annoyance and impatience. Opera ghost, Phantom, Angel of Music, he wanted to scream. Anything Christine - I'm here. Call to me, damn you. He watched as she idly picked up an ornament from a nearby table and absently set it down. Common sense told him to leave. Leave the hidden passageway in the room she occupied. Leave her. Leave memories be. Leave for the sake of his own sanity...

"Christine." The anxious figure spun to face the white mask and the familiar man dressed in a tuxedo who wore it. A loud gasp escaped from her throat, while nervous hands fluttered to her chest. The phantom did his best to stay composed, aloof, as the hammering in his ribs became a physical ache. He folded his arms across his chest to hopefully calm the beating, a slight satisfied smirk played upon his lips at her loss of speech and obvious discomfort. Christine opened her mouth to speak, to no avail, while Erik consciously kept his eyes glued to hers, not wanting to lower his gaze to those beautiful parted lips.

"Well, I should think I'm worthy of a hello at least." He continued with the deep formal voice when she did not answer.

"Especially of how you went to all the trouble of...how shall we phrase it...coax me out." The majestic body gave a slight bow of welcome.

"I didn't...I wasn't..." She choked out.

"Oh, come come now Christine." He purred wagging a finger. "You forget so soon, how perceptive I am of my...former student..." Christine lowered her head in embarrassment.

"I...I wasn't sure you'd still be here." She managed to stammer out. Erik raised an eyebrow to create as much humour he didn't feel.

"And what would you have done if I had...moved on."

"I don't know...I just wondered...I wanted to...I was curious." Heat burned in her cheeks.

"To see if I survived our...parting of two years ago. Or perhaps, better still...my demise...hmmm. Oh yes, Christine, I have not forgotten your curiosity."

"I...please...I'm sorry, this was a terrible mistake...forgive me...I must go."

"Not so fast." Erik held up his hand. "You will find escape a little difficult for the moment, I'm afraid." The soprano rattled the door handle before casting a wary glance over her shoulder at her captor. Despite the incessant pounding in his chest, Erik was beginning to enjoy the game that was emerging.

"You plead forgiveness." He sarcastically inquired.

"Yes...no...I..."

"Two years Christine, and still the shy innocent. Well, well. What more surprises lay in store with this impromptu...reunion." Erik had unfolded his arms and placed clenched fists in the confines of his cape. He couldn't believe his own naivety as well. Her overwhelming presence had stolen rationale for the brief time in her company, until a swift glance from piercing green orbs flew to her left hand. His voice tightened.

"Ah..but no longer the pure innocent...forgive ME Madam, I rarely make mistakes. And how is the handsome Vicomte de Chaney.?"

"Angel please...I didn't come here to fight." The opera ghost scoffed.

"Angel. You still would call me angel." He sneered. "It is painfully obvious that I am no angel, yet you allow yourself to continue with this ridiculous title." He fumed. "Did it never occur to you, that I may possess a name. All these years, and not once did you ever ask. Or could it be, creatures of darkness, the deformed, the shunned, the ugly do not deserve a name." Christine cringed from his glare.

"Yes...no...please, just let me go." She pleaded.

"By all means my dear." Came a snarl. "The door is unlocked. You are free to rid yourself of my hideous company."

"The door, no, it is locked." Christine was closed to tears. How many times had he brought his beautiful angel to tears, hurt her, frightened her? If this was his only chance to be near her again, anger and hurt in his own heart must be suppressed for the time being. There may never be another chance again, after all, he knew nothing of her new life. For all he knew she would be gone tomorrow, perhaps forever this time. With a sigh, a few long strides had the phantom twisting the door handle.

"Allow me." He muttered as Christine scooted through to the next room, eyes wildly searching for another exit.

"Christine." Erik swallowed hard. "Please...walk with me. I mean you no harm. I only...want to spend a few moments with you. Can we be pleasant to each other for once?" The word pleasant rose in his throat like bile. The same type of word as nice. Simple, safe and unobtrusive. Manners, decorum, etiquette, mundane pass times for the society that shunned him. Sometimes, living in a cavern far below, did have its advantages...and yet... something in his mind recalled an instance where someone had displeased him with their rudeness. He shook his head vaguely... a worker no doubt.

"Shall we start again?" Erik cleared his throat of the stubborn lump that had formed. Pleasantries.

"Yes...that would be nice." The phantom shuddered at her word.

"I will take you to your party. I shan't want you thinking along the lines of abduction again."

"Of course not." Came an uncertain reply.

"Of course not...what" Erik had drew himself up to full height.

"I don't understand." Christine's brow furrowed at the question while Erik contained his anger and frustration at her disregard.

"Never mind, let us walk. I take it you do not sing any more?" He wondered if he should have offered her his arm as they continued through the opera house, but no, to feel her skin, her warmth...then nothing...

"No, no, I don't sing." Was that a slight disappointment he'd detected?

"Do you still compose?" Erik stopped in his tracks, eyes lowered in annoyance. How soon she had forgotten. The music, their music, the passion, the phantom. How could such a question ever enter her mind. Music was his life.

"In other words, did I lose my inspiration, my talent, my will to live when you left?" He halted in his tracks again. "No my dear, for the...what has it been, it seems to have slipped my mind, how many years...whatever...I have been composing at my best." He lied. Christine eyed him cautiously.

"Two years, I seem to recall you mentioned."

"Yes, well." He coughed as they continued to walk. "Consider me reminded. The true answer to your question is no. Until the last two weeks, I'm afraid I haven't written a damn note." Erik did his best to appear nonchalant.

"And now?"

"And now. I am once again inspired. In fact, in my opinion, the best so far." Christine glanced at his enthusiasm.

"Oh, and what is the cause of this inspiration?" She asked casually. Erik quickly looked the other way.

"A genius never divulges his secrets Christine."

"Have you...has anyone...heard your new music?" They both had come to a door leading back to a large room, the visiting party was preparing to leave.

"No body has heard my new music." He lied again. "For I appear to be lacking in a good soprano." Christine quickly lowered her head, to hide the heat in her cheeks. She could sense the deep breathing of her former maestro as he stood nearby.

"I...I must go. Thank you Ang..." Erik was full of mixed emotions as he opened the door for her. Would this be the last time he'd ever see his angel of music? There were a million things he wanted to ask, but time was not on his side, and all questions would have eventually up on the subject of the Vicomte. He swallowed hard as she paused in the doorway.

"Is it very good, this new music?"

"Yes, it is very good Christine." He replied softly. Giving a nod of acknowledgement, she whispered not looking back.

"Goodbye Angel." Erik remained in the same spot after she'd slipped through the half opened door. He'd remained until the last of her perfume had been inhaled deep into his lungs. The phantom was grateful Christine had said goodbye keeping her gaze to the floor. There was no need for her to see the tears that threatened to fall once again. Some dignity had to be retained.

Erik's hands shook violently. He'd scurried back to the lair as fast as he could travel on unsteady legs. Dear lord, she was here. After two years she was actually walking with me, speaking to me. Oh my Christine. He'd taken a generous gulp of wine to steady the erratic thumping in his chest. Now for the aftermath, the hangover, the reality. She had been the drug, the high, the reason for his elation for only that short while, and now, the disappointment.

Erik threw himself into the throne holding his head in his hands, determined not to let tears form again. His eyes wandered to the organ and the sheets of music that lay around.

"Oh Christine, if only you had the chance to hear these songs. What masterpieces these would be with your voice - to hear you sing again." Erik closed his eyes, lost to the vision of her performing on the stage. He walked to the organ and sat down, willing his fingers to connect with new melodies. When nothing new eventuated he returned to the unfinished glass of wine, and to an unwanted memory. No, no I don't sing, she had said. Eriks mind erupted in anger.

"Damn you de Chaney. She was born to sing." The wine glass was hurled through the air. "You've caged her, you aristocratic bastard. How dare you deprive the world of that voice." The opera ghost forced his mind to calm down. I'll find out where they're staying. Somehow I must make her see sense. Reason with her, plead with her if I have to. Surely she must miss what she studied so hard for. Erik fell into his familiar pacing and planning between useless attempts at composing and successful attempts at wine consumption. By the time Odeon arrived he was mentally exhausted and a little drunk. In fact he stared at her for awhile as if she were a stranger. Odeon, of course, Odeon. She had completely slipped from his mind, and he found himself mildly annoyed at her interruption from his plans for Christine. At once, Odeon was aware of the change in her beloved phantom. This time she contained her joy at seeing him and walked warily to where he stood near the fire.

"Hello Erik." She managed a week smile while Erik continued to stare at her. "Is something wrong?" She asked noticing the empty wine bottle on the table. Erik ran a hand over tired, frustrated eyes. She had caught him of guard.

"No, nothings wrong." He said off handedly.

"Just a bad day. I'm sorry Erik, we all have them at sometime or another." She shrugged.

"My day has been wonderful." He snapped. "It's been...bliss...yes, total bliss." He strode to the organ and began shuffling music sheets, as Odeon eyed him cautiously.

"Oh dear, bad mood." She mumbled rolling her eyes.

"So, what has happened to change this blissful day?" Erik looked up impatiently from his shuffling and glared at her.

"You happened...by asking personal questions."

"Really Erik, I'm not in the mood for one of your childish tantrums." She huffed. "Shall we begin. I will need some new..."

"Begin what? I have been busy all day composing and I see no reason to continue into the night."

"You have been satisfied with these arrangements for the past few weeks. Besides, the only work I see around me is the result of a lot of elbow bending, not composing" Erik looked up perplexed.

"Elbow bending. What the hell is that supposed to mean woman?" Odeon opened her mouth to reply.

"No...please do not answer that. I have no wish to be exposed to the idiotic slang of the twenty first century." The irate opera ghost had marched past her to collect fresh music sheets.

"Elbow bending." He scoffed. "And would it be asking to much to exercise a descent dress code upon entering my home? You are not a vagrant I presume. Where are your shoes?"

"They were worn out, don't you remember. You were going to replace them for me." She said exasperated.

"Was I. Completely slipped my mind." Came an off hand reply.

"May I have a pair now?"

"No, you MAY not." He emphasised as he walked past her back to the organ.

"But, how can I dance..."

"Odeon, I have already explained. I am not working tonight." He slammed the sheets down and glared at her, pretending not to notice the hurt expression. The ballerina walked on trembling legs to the lounge. Oh god, what is happening, what have I done, she thought, feeling sick in the stomach. Last night they were making plans for a future, albeit meagre ones. Had he not held her in his arms and told her how he'd missed her also. Odeon lowered her face to hide the tears that threatened to fall.

"What is it you would have me do tonight then?" She consciously drew her bare feet under the lounge, smoothing out the chiffon ballet skirt so it fell to the floor. Erik eyed her coolly.

"Nothing...I would have you do nothing Odeon. You are free to leave."

"Leave...now...but why? Erik, what is going on here? Tell me, have I done something to upset you?" She had risen to her feet, struggling to keep the panic from her voice.

"Please, I don't understand...ohh." Odeon lifted her foot to find a small piece of glass embedded in her foot. Erik sighed with impatience.

"What is it now Odeon?"

"I think I have a piece of glass in my foot." He begrudgingly crossed over to where she had sat back down.

"Let me see." He none too gently wrenched her foot for examination.

"You'll live." He snapped as he roughly discarded the limb. "I'll get something." Odeon's heart thumped erratically in her chest and echoed in her ears. Dear god, why is he being so cruel to me. I am so afraid of what is happening here. I don't understand. She sobbed. Erik had returned with a sharp implement and tossed it to the seat beside her.

"That should do it." He said walking on by to the organ.

"Aren't you going to..." Her voice trembled trying to keep back tears.

"NO, I AM NOT. Must I do everything for you. I'm a busy man, dig it out yourself...or... leave the blasted thing where it is. It is of no concern to me." He sat down heavily on the organ seat. Odeon glared at him and managed to extract the shard through tear filled eyes.

"Oh come come, tears Odeon. It would have not hurt that much. Such melodramatics." He shook his head in disgust. Erik had had enough of tears for the day. First Madam Girys blubbering and now this. With the glass out, Odeon finally snapped. Standing, she threw the small knife like object as far as the contraption could travel.

"YOU COLD HEARTED, UNEMOTIONAL, UTTER, BASTARD. What has come over you tonight." She yelled. Erik abruptly stood, seat flying out from under him and pointed a threatening finger in her direction.

"Now who's throwing tantrums. My advice to you is, to get on your hands and knees to find that blade. It is a valuable part of my surgical equipment...NOW." He barked.

"FIND IT YOURSELF YOU MISERABLE, CANTANKEROUS PIECE OF SHIT. How dare you treat me like this, speak to me this way." She fumed.

"Speak to YOU this way? Let me take a minute to remind you, it is you, indulging in this elegant speech to ME...NOW FIND THAT BLADE."

"GO TO HELL, I OWE YOU NOTHING, YOU SWINE." With ice in his voice, Erik narrowed his eyes dangerously.

"Very well, then leave." Each threatening step brought him closer to those flashing blue eyes. Once people would have fainted or screamed the place down, fled for their lives in the opera ghosts presence. He had forgotten about Odeons courage, her strength, how he used to admire these attributes in his little intruder.

"It will be my pleasure. I find sharing company with an arrogant, insensitive PRICK, somehow turns my stomach." Her voice quivered in rage and watched as the phantom clenched his fists before she hobbled off towards the lake. Yes, she had come to know the opera ghost to well for his liking, something had to be done about this unfortunate mishap.

"Odeon?" Eriks voice had become kind and soft, causing a lump to form in her throat. With relief she stopped in her tracks.

"Yes, Erik?" She whispered.

"Please, forgive me for my appalling behaviour." The phantom choked out with sincerity. " I must tell you...I did not say how important...please, you need to hear..."

"Don't...it is nothing that can't be sorted." Odeon turned to face him, forcing a smile.

"Yes, that is exactly what I am trying to get across, and rather badly, I must agree." She took a few steps toward Erik, her heartbeat settling to a less frantic pace.

"Make sure to steer clear of more glass. I suspect there to be much larger pieces over your way. It is where I aimed the glass after all. Larger shards make for larger injuries...and without my blade...well, could easily lead to permanent damage... severed vital veins, muscles...you might never dance again. Not to mention the copious amount of blood you are sure to discharge over my fine Persian rugs." His casual venomous sarcasm burned her ears and seared into her heart. Her mouth fell open in disbelief as she caught sight of the twisted smirk on his lips.

"You F..CKING, UNBELIEVABLE CALLOUS BASTARD...you..."

"Thank you, I consider that a complement. I HAVE BEEN CALLED MUCH WORSE." He yelled after her.

"ARSEHOLE." She screamed as the pin pricks of light invaded her body.

"AND YOU CAN KEEP YOURSELF AND THAT FOUL LANGUAGE IN THE TWENTY FIRST CENTUARY WHERE IT BELONGS." He bellowed to the empty cavern. Erik huffed, straightened his vest and restored the organ seat to its original position. He was about to sit but was forced to change his mind. With a growl, the phantom smoothed out his hair and went in search for a new bottle wine. Something had to be done to allay the unpleasant sensation of guilt and shame eating away at his conscience.

Aunt Neve had given up on trying to communicate with her niece. She had waited an hour, hoping the one that wanted to be called Odeon, might calm down, but to no avail. Even without their usual telepathy, the wise one could never the less sense the array of emotions, anger and hurt being most prominent. She had also been surprised by the short visit, and the urgent call home. So, that madman had upset her once again. How she loathed him. If only her niece could be persuaded to leave that pathetic animal to his own means. Why hadn't she chosen one worthy of her abilities? She remembered the theory of unfinished business, lives that must seek conclusions, and sighed. The ending could not come soon enough. Tomorrow night may give her much needed answers. Meanwhile, she'd take herself home for some serious meditation. With a bit of luck, perhaps some information would come through to enlighten the situation of what that beasts intentions were.

Odeon fumed and seethed, cried and agonised over Erik's behaviour. This was more than his general bad temper and frustration she'd become used to. Oh, how cruel his last comments. Usually, in these situations, Erik could be overly concerned if she was hurt. For the first time, Odeon understood how easy it was to hate – and hate him at that moment, she did. How easy was it for him to have fooled her with his false words and soft apologetic voices. How easily she had accepted and believed, her own hurt pushed aside to deal with whatever crisis that had invaded Erik's world once again. Yes, hate was easier to deal with than fear. The fear of losing her phantom sent tremors through her heart, shock wave after shock wave. Hating - if one hated, the pain was certain to be more tolerable. That cutting edge a little less sharp. Hate meant you could blame, justly or otherwise, but what to do with fear? Fear of being unwanted, unappreciated, unloved. Yet love him she did. When aggressive hate faded, love surfaced to the top, exposed and raw. Unwelcome memories of their passion a few nights ago refused to subside. They filtered through the keyholes of locked doors, and permeated soil, despite of how deeply buried they lay – all aiding the hurt and unfortunately restraining the hate she preferred from her heart. Finally, sleep arrived, silent tears making her pillow an uncomfortable soggy mush, invisible from the eyes of the every day waking world that continued, all ignorant of the suffering and turmoil that went unnoticed in the so called life of the coma patient.

Dear god, could opera life become more unsettling, Madam Giry thought. She both loved and feared Erik, especially after his latest outburst. The normal routine of a ballet mistress was not supposed to entail playing nurse maid to an insecure, unstable and sometimes insufferable opera genius.

"One has grown to old for these ongoing dilemmas...and now I fear I cannot help you any more Erik. What I must pass onto you can have no positive results, only more upheaval, violence and pain for all involved. Perhaps you were better off with the imaginary Odeon. You were happier then... for awhile at least." Madam Giry descended to the catacombs. If the resident ghost still held contempt for her, then so be it. Let him rant. She was to tired to care any more. Had the phantom been more observant instead of annoyed at the ballet mistresses visit, he may have noticed the change in his friend. She moved a little slower, while that perfect posture showed signs of a faint stoop. Yet he chose to see the same woman who had betrayed him yesterday. He received the note in her outstretched hand with an icy stare from indifferent eyes. No polite nod or any kind of gratitude was necessary in his opinion. After a slight hesitation, Madam Giry abruptly turned away from his glare and made the long journey back to more hospitable surroundings. Erik's eyes froze at the hand writing - 'Angel' - and so it was with trembling hands, the envelope was swiftly ripped open and discarded, forgotten, the same as everything and anyone else when the phantoms attention focused on past obsessions and future indiscretions.

My dear Angel,

If it would please you, may I suggest

a meeting at your convenience. I am most

intrigued by your new work you mentioned.

Perhaps your music may be heard once

again by the appropriate soprano.

Your Angel of Music.


	17. Chapter 17 Dangerous Ignorance

Chap 17

Images emerged upon the mind of the wise one during her meditation session, some clear, others unfocused. She saw the form in black and white as it moved about its place of residence, the cavern no doubt, its mask, emanating a slightly brighter glow. This was her first visit to the the operas underground. Only once did she go near, but that visit was to the perpetrators mind. An uncomfortable night on the cold floor, a necessary reminder of who was in charge. An easy target to manipulate she remembered with a smile. The décor of the cavern was no surprise, although she'd never actually set foot in the depths of the opera house. Candelabras, all fitted with blazing instruments of light. The floor area consisted of fine rugs complementing expensive quality furniture. A long leather lounge was facing a raging fire, plus wooden tables, chairs, and what could only be described as an elaborately carved throne. Arrogant bastard, she sniffed. Her line of vision continued to travel, finding a section of floor boards, closely fitted, level and faintly polished – Odeons dance floor, she presumed. Onwards, her eyes scaled the walls, a mixture of excellent paintings and large intricate tapestries of an eastern theme. Something shiny and sparkling caught her attention in the distance. As she concentrated, a vast lake with a gondola type boat tied to a wooden jetty emerged. Of course, the underground stream that flowed beneath the opera house. As much as she wanted to criticise, she had to admit it was beautiful, emitting a serene, calm ambience. A must for any psychotic animal to soothe violent rages, she mused. In fact, the entire cavern, the fire, the subtle candlelight, evoked a warm inviting feeling to the onlooker. Aunt Neve knew differently. And then, there was the organ, itself a masterpiece in design. That to, she begrudgingly had to admire. The craftsmanship was immaculate. At least he'd put his murdering hands to more practical uses sometime in his destructive life. She forcefully pushed the knowledge of his exceptional other talents, his angelic voice, his sublime music compositions, painting and drawing skills, architecture, carvings, his inventions, all perfection in each creation, to the back of her mind. It would not do to become enchanted with his beauty underneath. Therefore maybe it was a blessing when the interior became flooded in thicker mist. A gentle roaring, not unlike the waves that broke on a rocky shore, assailed her eardrums, had her back in the small apartment sitting cross legged on the floor. With the aid of her trusty lounge, she dragged herself upright. Getting down was far more easier than getting up she concluded.

"As for you, you pathetic creature, patience is mine. There will always be another night you see, and I await it eagerly. Consider yourself lucky time was on your side. It is only temporary...and then all will be revealed." She gave a triumphant laugh. "And you won't even know you've cooperated, you fool."

The following morning the wise one woke with at start from the jangling phone beside her bed. It had been the hospital informing her of Odeons restless few hours the night before. This was not unusual in her nieces case. It had occurred before, yet a quick visit was sure to allay any concerns. It must be that animals fault, perhaps she may be able to coax some information from the stubborn girl. As she walked, her mind replayed every immaculate detail of the lair. No items were displaced, or thrown. In fact there were no signs of any childish tantrums she knew him to display at all. Never the less, something vital had happened. Which meant bestowing more antidote for the continual poison that seeped from his very existence, all be it over a hundred years ago.

"Odeon, my dear. The hospital called. You had an upsetting few hours. Please talk to me. Tell me what has happened." Aunt Neve dragged the chair to the bedside and took hold of the warm lifeless hand.

"You know, nothing can be that bad. Nothing that cannot be fixed. If only you would tell me. I'm here to help you child." She sensed Odeon flinch and tried to make light of the situation.

"I mean...I'm here to help you Odeon. Please let me in." After some silence...

" I can't. Not now. I wouldn't know where to start." Came a faint, exhausted reply.

"Well, you just did." She replied kindly. Odeon gave a long sigh.

"It's too much...not yet."

"Then when, my dear. It does one no good to let these things eat you up."

"I know...just not yet. Please let me rest." Aunt Neve gave a worried frown.

"Very well Dear, I'll let you sleep." Reluctantly she rose from the chair and proceeded to the door.

"Aunt Neve...maybe tonight." The old lady sighed with relief.

"That will be fine. Tonight then."

Tonight, good, that will give me plenty of time to attempt another visit. The more I can find out, the better I will be able to advice. The next hours were spent relaxing. The whole idea leading up to physic travel was to remain stress free, at times not an easy task. Never the less, as the afternoon approached, the wise one took to the floor in the usual seated position. Candles and incense smoke swirled in the soft breeze that floated in through the window. In moments, after deep breathing and mind clearing, the self induced trance saw her back in the cavern viewing the same contents of yesterday. She concentrated on the organ, the most likely place to find the so called phantom. A flicker of annoyance crossed her brow to find it majestically displayed, bathed in soft candlelight, minus its composer.

Continued surveillance fell on closed wooden doors, other rooms filled with more finery, no doubt. Most likely stolen she wanted to believe, yet she knew better. Rumours of a vast library, containing books of all knowledge possible certainly lay behind these solid entrances. The scrutiny of the phantoms lair came to an end, as her vision landed on the pacing black and white sometimes blurry figure. Aahhhh... at last, the bane of my existence, she whispered. You may appear in a fog, yet I see your arrogant stride, the magnetic power you portray in every move, and yes...my nemeses, the handsome good looks that has stolen my nieces heart...and mind. Unfortunately the mask only added mystery to the attraction, she had to admit. Now, according to Odeon, this pacing usually meant restlessness, writers block, anger, none of which the wise one could decipher. Nothing appeared up turned, smashed or dishevelled, the same a yesterday. In fact, the entire cavern was in perfect order. Maybe some of his neatness will rub off on Odeon she could only hope. No, the phantoms pace was filled with excitement, elation almost, definitely not anger. The figure by now had sat down at the table, pen, ink and paper laid out neatly before him. What she would give to see who he was in correspondence with. She devised it must be someone or something of great importance, as sheet after sheet was scrunched up and thrown aside, followed by more furious, intense writing. She witnessed each balled up reject as it fell to the floor landing near the shiniest most immaculate boots she'd ever seen. Pompous ass she mumbled, as keen eyes spotted more pieces laying out of sight under yet,another elaborate carved bureau. This one however, had been torn in a frenzy, the name on the envelope ripped in two. Curse this blurry vision, she whispered with an impatient frown. The frown only deepened trying to make out the writing. A feminine hand. A name, not a long one, five letters. Intuition told of its importance. An important letter ripped violently apart in a woman's handwriting. How loud those alarm bells sounded echoing throughout her head, a continuous peeling as minutes passed, eyes searching, focus and unfocused, concentration penetrating deeper into an already overworked mind, not a recipe for success. The wise one sighed in defeat. The familiar roaring was approaching reminding her the session was coming to a close. My age certainly interferes with time limits, she sighed in disappointment. Once out of the trance, she quickly grabbed pen and paper to scribble down the name that was photographed in her memory. Alas, all the concentration and acumen applied to the scrawl remained futile.

"Illegible, obscure and utterly useless." She spat in disgust. The tired eyes had scrutinised each scrawled letter to no avail. Throwing the disappointing article into the bin, Aunt Neve showered and changed for her second visit that day to Odeons bedside. A quick coffee to refresh the mind was halfway consumed while standing at the sink, staring out at nothing in particular on the the street below. The passing by of strangers went unregistered as her busy thoughts

reverted to the rubbish bin and its contents.

"I must not let this defeat me. The answer has to be in those letters." Determined to try and decipher the scrawl one more time, she placed the lid on the sink and reached into the bin, her hand halting in mid action. The wise old eyes grew wide in astonishment. It lay there for all who cared to observe. So blatantly obvious and prominent. The words, the writing, the name. Aunt Neve let out a gasp.

"Dear god, how remiss I have been, Oh how foolish. It was upside down. All this time, it was upside down."

"Why didn't I think to turn it around?" She said incredulously. Her response held a mixture of emotions. Excitement, relief, followed by fear and foreboding. There was no joy present however, as nervous eyes fell on the name. Angel.

* * *

Erik was disgusted in his inability to construct a few formal words in response to the most cherished letter he had ever received. Halyon had been given strict instructions to comb the most respected hotels in Paris. This involved the purchase of new expensive clothing especially for the all important mission. The masked man had provided a hasty course in decorum and speech, and also, to Halyons delight, a trip to the local barber, commanding a suitable style worthy of a young gentleman. With limited words, he was to inquire if a Madam de Chaney resided within, if so, a letter was to be deposited to the appropriate pigeon hole, for her hand only. It had taken a few hours, nevertheless, the phantoms devoted courier had succeeded in his task. Now, all Erik had to do was wait...and wait...patience never one of his virtues. To pass time, he delved into the new compositions, going over each piece and placing all in an order they would be played to Christine. His Christine, who wanted to sing for him again. Oh, how these new songs will thrill her to her very core. His songs, composed by him, all waiting for that sublime voice...his voice he'd created and moulded. Erik's entire body trembled with anticipation. His mind was so fully consumed with the thought of her beside him once more..in the same room..seeking his tuition..just like before. Alas, these sweet reflections must be put to rest, for the night anyway.

"I must sleep, be well rested, alert for tomorrows encounters." He boasted to Ebon. "For tomorrow my feline friend, you maybe just lucky enough to catch a glimpse of the most beautiful perfection ever to exist." The cat scowled and turned his head.

"Ahh...your face will be unable to turn tomorrow. It shall be riveted to her very presence...and then my friend, you may understand a little more of your master... see why many events have made him what he is." He crooned. "She lives in me and always has." Ebon abruptly stood and bolted from the room.

"Very well, my surly friend. Ignore my words." He haughtily called after the cat. "I shall fill you dish with a special treat...and please, do not think of it along the lines as a reward for your rudeness. I merely must avoid any interruptions from my treasured sleep tonight." Erik ceased his ridiculous one way conversation, eyebrows knitting in annoyance. Ebon had placed himself by the lake, waiting for sparkling pin pricks to appear.

"The ballerina." He spat, rage flaring as usual. He'd forgotten about the ballerina.

"You wait for that despicable, foul mouthed creature? Are you not aware of her disgusting language and deplorable antics last night.?" Ebon shifted so his back faced his insufferable master.

"You heard what she called me." He roared. The cat lay down to wait out his vigil.

"Traitor." He muttered, anger subsiding. Throwing his hands in the air, he turned away from the animal and let out a chuckle.

"Oh what a vision for all to behold. The dangerous, fearsome, overpowering opera ghost conversing with a cat...BUT." He whirled around, facing his companion laying in the distance.

"She won't appear you know...no, not after last nights encounter...if she knows what's good for her." He trailed off. Erik raised an arrogant chin, straightened his vest and flicked a few invisible specks from his impeccable attire.

"I have no need to endure her unsavoury presence ever again. Christine is all I need...have always needed." He stated, proudly striding purposefully to his bedroom. Ebons dish was never filled.

* * *

Aunt Neve stood by the bed gazing at the comatose body before her. Oh how she dearly would love to roam the small room while in touch with Odeon. That way facial expressions and body language would be harder to detect. There hadn't been much time to digest the entire consequences those five letters represented. Therefore, with a forced smile, the wise one placed an unsettled body in the chair.

"Odeon, are you awake?" When she didn't answer right away, a thought flashed through her mind. A cowardly thought. I'll come back tomorrow. Yes, tomorrow, when I can be more focused with this new dilemma.

"Why tomorrow. What is important about tomorrow?" Odeon asked. Her Aunt visibly jumped.

"Oh my dear, you startled me. I thought you were sleeping."

"I spend my whole day sleeping, why would I want to continue into the night?" She grumbled. "What is important about tomorrow?"

"My dear, I don't know what you mean." Odeon sighed.

"You forget I am physic also. Even if it is only on a small scale. Tomorrow was most prominent in your mind. Perhaps I'm developing some skills after all." Aunt Neve shivered at the thought Odeon may someday be able to tap into her conscious.

"Tomorrow is of no importance. Tonight is, right this minute. Now, tell me. Do you feel up to talking about things?"

The intensive care patient gave a shiver at the question, fully aware it had not gone unnoticed in her Aunts eye.

"It was just a row, that is all." When she remained silent, her aunt gently pressed.

"A bigger on than usual I presume. What is it that nutcase has done or said this time?"

"I would rather not speak of it."

"You must, my girl. I cannot help if you do not speak." An uneasy thought flashed through her mind. Do I really want to hear this. Odeon was near tears.

"I don't know how to describe what happened. We just had a row..."

"A more serious one than normal, yes."

"He was so..callous, preoccupied, indifferent..as if I was in the way, interrupting him. His mind seemed to be on something else. It consumed him. I tried to make light of it, but that only made matters worse."

Aunt Neves mind was a whirlwind of ripped notes, scrunched up paper, intense writing. The excitement and elation that saturated the atmosphere in the cavern – and now she knew why. Christine. Somehow Christine was back in his life. It was obvious Odeon was no longer needed. The elderly lady placed a nervous hand to her scarf to adjust an imaginary problem.

"Aunt Neve...Aunt Neve..."

"Oh, I'm sorry dear...what was it you were saying?" She would have to be very careful not to reveal any new insight.

"Now you are the one preoccupied." Odeon accused.  
"Nonsense dear..."  
"Yes, you are...and your hands are shaking. You know something, don't you. You have received information of some importance. Tell me."

"Odeon, you are over reacting. I know nothing."

"Oh yes you do. I have lived with you all my life. I know you. Don't say you still think me to immature not to notice how flustered you are? What is it you have found out. I must know. Is it about Erik?" Aunt Neve collected herself as much as possible.

"The only information I have received is what you have just told me." She stated.

"You are just like he is. Shutting me out, ignoring what I have to say...as if I'm so insignificant..."

"How dare you compare me to that bastard." Aunt Neve made no apology for her language.

"Yes, I called him that and so much more. You would have been appalled."

"Call him what you will dear. It appears he deserves it."

"But does he really. I have had time to calm down...and there's things that don't make sense."

"There is nothing in that savages life that makes sense." Aunt Neve flared. "Why is it you cannot see this is just a waste of time and heartbreak. People like Erik can't be helped by you or anyone. He can't even help himself dear."

"No, you are wrong. He deserves guidance more than anyone I know. He's lost..."

"He's a vicious murderer without a conscience." She retorted.

"Weather he realises it or not, he needs me. It is what I've vowed to do, and I will never give up until I have succeeded."

"Surely you don't mean...you foolish girl." Aunt Neve stood in anger, sending the chair flying across the floor in disgust.

"Is everything alright madam?" The door had been opened by the night nurse wearing a worried frown. The elderly woman glanced at her then the upturned chair.

"Yes, yes. Oh dear it appears I have nodded off. I got quite a star I'm afraid." She quickly bent down and retrieved the chair. Aunt Neve could tell her meagre explanation was unconvincing.

"Are you hurt, can I be of assistance?"

"No, no dear. I'll be ok. I'll just spend a few more moments with my niece...and then, well, I be off home to catch up on some much needed sleep." She feigned weariness. The nurse cast an uneasy glance at the still body on the bed.

"Very well, madam." She said before closing the door.

"Now look what I've had to do. I've lied to that poor nurse...never needed more than a few hours sleep in my entire life." She grumbled.

"Lying never bothered you before."

"Don't be impertinent. It serves it's purpose when I decide it's for the best. Not to the cost of my pride."

"You remind me of Erik." Odeon said for the second time that night.

"You are crossing the line my girl. I will not tolerate being compared..."

"I meant your temper...and your pride." She added, and quickly continued before her Aunt had a chance to rant.

"Aunt Neve, I'll be be all right. You go, maybe you do need to rest." She eyed her niece with a suspicious look.

"I'm surprised you haven't asked to travel."

"Would you have permitted it."

"Definitely not. Not till you gather a little more common sense." She quipped, gathering her hand bag.

She bent over the sleeping body and placed a kiss on her forehead.

"Try not to worry, things have a way of appearing less dramatic with the rise of a new sun. I shall be here tomorrow dear...same time" Aunt Neve gave a curt nod of goodbye to the night nurse. The night nurse gave a sigh of relief - and so did the other nurses while on night duty in the intensive care. The old lady gave everyone the creeps with her visits. Many nights, the nurses would witness hours of vacant staring at the walls. Other times, facial expressions and body language, gave the impression she had actually indulged in a conversation with the patient. Then again, sometimes upon departure, one could swear an argument had taken place, or a matter of grave concern would be displayed across her elderly features. Outside the hospital, Aunt Neve focused her mind on the most recent problem. That girl was up to something.

"No protest about travel. No pleadings. What hairbrained scheme was racing through that stubborn mind this time." She wondered.

Yes, Odeon had dismissed her aunt as gently and quickly as she could, and yes she did have a plan. One that must be acted out in total secrecy. It would involve a lot of courage and a lot of practise. For the time being however, she to would need her rest. Tomorrow promised new beginnings...for everyone.

* * *

Waiting for Christine's reply was a like a physical ache for the phantom. He'd hardly slept the night before, willing the hours to hurry by. Only when one was convinced it was Christine who sought his new music, not the reverse, did he manage to fall into a light slumber. She was the one seeking a return, that was all that mattered. Her decision alone. Or was it? Erik did wonder how she had managed to gain the approval of that pathetic fop. The chances of the Vicomte permitting his prize back into the clutches of opera would be out of the question. Nevertheless the two years of wasted time were now far behind. This was a blissful new beginning. He erased the sickening image of the happy couple from his mind as he paced the confines of the hidden passages, eager eyes always returning to the operas entrance. A curse erupted from impatient lips at unfamiliar faces as they came and went. Unfortunately this tedious routine was to last for hours. The muscular arm that possessively gripped the contents of the leather sheath, began to weaken, sending pins and needles down it's lengthy limb. It was a small sacrifice, easily tolerated, considering the precious collection inside. Changing arms did nothing for the ailment either. It merely transferred the existing problem to the other over a period of time. All for Christine, only ever for Christine. Dam, why hadn't he insisted on a specific time? Why indeed? It had been imperative not to display such overly demands, he'd reasoned. No words of negativity were to appear before those beautiful blue eyes. The last thing Erik needed at this time, was for Christine to think she was being coerced again. Thus, at your leisure, had been penned. Every word polite and non threatening.

"Politeness." He quietly growled. "So unnecessary and time consuming in my line of work." Instant results was what he relied on.

And so, another restless hour had passed until her presence was finally acknowledged by the now, highly strung opera ghost. Madam Giry had been given the all important instructions from his icy glare earlier that morning. The moment the soprano arrived, she was to be greeted by the ballet mistress and escorted to the small private music room that was off limits to any of the opera staff. If this was the time to pinch oneself to convince one was not dreaming, it most certainly was now. Erik swallowed hard at the vision before him, unable to believe his eyes. His good fortune, his second chance at breathing the same air with this exquisite creature, was just moments away. He quickly tore through the passages towards the room. One last long private look however had brought him to a halt. A few minutes to savour all to himself before appearing face to face. Madam Giry had cast an apprehensive glance around as she left her guest alone. A piano and two chairs, the only furniture to keep her company.

"Christine." The words, almost a whisper, floated to her ears.

"Angel." The nervous girl gave a start as she spun around to once more face her tutor of years ago. Erik winced at the name.

"Ahh..." The loss of words was embarrassing, resulting in various hand gestures, and throat clearing.

"I'm...I'm so glad. No, no, not glad. That word, it's so inferior...meaningless, don't you agree... Just like..." Erik looked down as his feet gave an awkward shuffle.

"The thing is..." He forced his eyes to look directly into hers, recovering at much dignity as he could muster.

"The thing is..." By now the feet had finally found their purpose as he elegantly walked to the piano. Placing his fedora and leather sheath upon the bow, he smoothed down his dark hair, the confident, majestic voice of the opera ghost had returned.

"I'm ecstatic for this opportunity you have given me to be in your presence once more. As you can see, you still possess the ability to take my breath away...my Christine." The soprano quickly lowered her eyes to the floor.

"Oh Ange...I've never..." She trailed off. That name. Erik's temper was stirred, a frown replacing any trace of tenderness.

"Erik." He boldly stated. Christine looked up with confused eyes.

"I'm sorry, who...?"

"Erik." She gave a nervous fidget at the sharp voice and temper, all to familiar from so many years ago. Time had not changed him one bit, she realised.

"Who...who is Erik?" The phantoms eyes pierced her blue orbs. This was not off to a good start. He cursed his temper, yet continued.

"It appears the comment I made about names yesterday fell on deaf ears." He snapped.

"Ange, please. I do not know of what you speak."

"A name. My name. Did it not occur to you I may have a name. Why have you never asked? Is it because my grotesque features render me unworthy? Hmm. My murderous past, my life of torment, shame and humiliation don't warrant the smallest, most humble scrap of humanity...a name." Erik had started to walk around the piano towards her. "You appeared to have no trouble uttering that milksops name If I remember correctly. By the way, please help me with my curiosity. How was it you managed to escape your Vicomtes stranglehold. Hmm."

"I am free to come and go as I please." She answered to quickly.

"No, no my dear you are not. Not in the society you reside in." Christine looked away from his glare.

"ANSWER ME." Her trembling body gave away the lie, yet she returned his glare.

"I told Raoul I intended to visit the latest fashions that are on display this week." Erik mockingly raised as eyebrow.

"My, my such deceit...my Christine."

"I am not your Christine. I belong to Raoul."

"Raoul, yes Raoul. A name, HIS name. Why is it you cannot speak mine?" He hissed.

"Angel please?" Christine was fighting back tears that threatened to fall. "You were an angel...my angel."

"ERIK, MY NAME IS ERIK." He bellowed, bringing a fist down upon the polished wood. "Have you forgotten. I am no angel. By your very own hand that angel vanished forever. I became a man. A poor excuse, undoubtedly. Nevertheless, a man just the same." His voice trembled from the memory of the first unmasking. Christine took a few steps back from his advance, her hand flying to her mouth.

"Please...I never thought...I never meant...any disrespect. I just didn't...you never gave me the chance to consider..."

"All those years and it never entered you naïve mind to enquire. Never gave you the chance." He spat in disgust.

"Ange...please?" She cried.

"ERIK."

"Please...Erik." The sound of his name passing her lips made him start in surprise. It was not the sound he had hoped for. All through the years he'd wondered what it may be like...and now...nothing. No sweet sensation tingled throughout his body as she uttered the word, and no sigh of gratification at her new knowledge flowed passed his lips. Yet, someone had spoken his name, had made his name sound magical. His chest tightened with pent up emotion. Yes, he'd expected more. Only two people in the world now knew of his name. Madam Giry and now Christine. So why had this appeared all wrong. No, there was a third. A voice, my name was spoken by another voice...one that made me glow with pride when she called...That ballerina. The ballerina had already known his name. That coarse, abomination he'd allowed into his domain. How could it be possible for her to have such beauty in her speech. Erik shook his head willing the memory to flee his mind.

"I'm sorry Ang...Erik...forgive me." His name grated in his ears. "This was a mistake. I should have let you be...I never wanted to stir up our past. I must go...I'm feeling a little..." Erik watched the paleness spread across her features. In seconds, he was by her side, escorting the frail body to the nearest chair.

"Please, forgive me" Erik managed to choke out. "My temper...it's..." He looked ashamedly at the seated figure.

"I'm afraid nothing has changed...I have not changed..." He inhaled deeply seeking some calm.

"I only wanted you to hear my music. You should not be confronted once again...with someone you fear." Christine opened her mouth to respond, but Erik held up a palm .

"I am sorry for my deplorable behaviour. It will not happen again. Please forgive me, I promise Christine to do my best to be the perfect gentleman." He crouched down beside the chair, a faint apologetic smile played across his face.

"Now, tell me. Are you feeling any better? Please Christine, I had know intention of upsetting you. I will not mention the Vicomte again." The concerned gentle voice tugged at her heartstrings. Yes, this was the angel she caught a glimpse of many times in the past. The one who had made her feel special and safe.

"Yes...Erik. I will be fine. I just need a little air, if there is a window you could possibly open..." In an instant he was on his feet to the nearest means to the outside world.

"Thank you...and...Erik. I am still willing to hear what you have written." She said shyly.

"Our music, it will be our music Christine. Once you hear what I have written, it can't be anything else." Christine swiftly turned her face toward the small window leading to the outside world. Another world that didn't include the phantom of the opera and unwanted memories. Erik was by now hastily unwrapping the leather sheath and placing music sheets onto the piano. With a broard grin and an exagerrated flicking of his coat tails, the seated genius launched into each perfectly composed melody. Note by note floated to the very heart and soul of the mesmerised soprano. The maestro, continually catching her eye every few seconds seeking the much needed approval. Sometimes he witnessed tears forming in her beautiful blue orbs at the appropiate pieces he played, a smile of satisfaction at the knowledge of her understanding the power his music always created. Skillful fingers softened over the ivories as did the sound of the husky, seductive voice that drifted to her ears.

"You see Christine. Just as before. Music cannot escape us. We are music. You and Me. This is what we are. What we were born to do...as one." A silence hung in the air, neither one daring to breathe or make the first comment. Erik placed unsteady hands in his lap when he'd finished. Dear god, he was sure she could hear the pounding of his heart. With a rustle of generous skirts from his former muse, Erik watched her hasty retreat to the window. If Christine heard his silent steps behind her, she gave no sign when he gently placed those talented hands upon her shoulders. The tingling of his warm breath on her neck was another matter.

"Just like way back when." He crooned. She quickly ducked out of the gentle caress, checking for fallen tears.

"Erik...this music is incredible. How did you...what inspired you..." Her eyes lowered to anxious hands. "Who...who inspired you to write such perfection?" Erik frowned as he walked to her side.

"My dear, what makes you think any specific individual had to inspire me?" Came the slightly rattled voice.

"This music, it is of love, adoration, wonder...it contains uncertainties yet screams of underlying passion. Only love...the love of a woman can create such emotions."

"And you think I have the love of a woman." He stated thickly. "Tell me Christine, do I detect a hint of jealously on your behalf? Can it be your naive heart has finally experienced the unpleasant feelings of envy." Christine's cheeks reddened as she turned away to avoid his scrutiny. A little louder Erik continued."Because, if you have, I can assure the pain does not stop there. It is destruction itself. The continual gnawing, like a slow released acid that starts in the heart and spreads to the gut. It consumes you, takes control as it enters the mind. Ahhh yes, the mind." He purred venom. "A slow descent into madness..."

"Ang...Erik, stop this. I will not return there." She boldly held his blazing eyes. "We made choices. You and me and Raoul. We got on with life from these choices..."

"The simplicity of life. Push every little hurt, every little unfinished explanation way beyond recall, so the soul is free to partake in the mindless,frivolous simplicities you bask in now. Is that what you are trying to describe. There is no such thing Christine." He loudly stated.

"No Erik. For you it can never be. You stubbornness will never let it in and your temperament would never allow such contentment. You prefer to flounder in sorrow, and darkness. It is the only way you think you can survive. What sort of life is it to rely on violence and supremacy when you possess the ability and the gift of music...Share it with others Erik. See how your life can be turned around. No more living in damp caverns..."

"Are you not forgetting the one thing that prevents me from sharring with OTHERS..."  
"Your face need not be on display Erik. You have coped and survived this long." Eriks jaw dropped at her audacity. "You would invent some solution to the problem. You always do." Before his rising temper could explode, Christine bid a hasty goodbye.

"Back to the flawless Vicomte." He snapped.

"The Vicomte is away visiting the estates. I am free to come and go as I choose." She retorted. A sarcastic sneer spread across his thunderous features.

"But, my dear. I was under the impression your precious Vicomte was informed by his devoted wife...what were your words exactly? Oh yes, a few hours taking in the latest fashions this fine cities designers has to offer. Well, well, the simplicity of life contains lies. I was under the impression they infested in my abode alone. I must admit, I'm a little confused..." The flustered soprano severed the sarcasm with a curt goodbye.

"CHRISTINE." She stopped abruptly, her back still facing the phantom.

"You will be back" The smug confident statement penetrated every pore as it was meant to. She could picture the haughty stance, the tilt of his arrogant chin.

"Yes, Erik. I will be back...tomorrow."

There were few times in the life of the phantom when contented sleep occurred naturally. Of course, we are referring to the fact that this was obtained after recalling every second spent with Christine over and over again. Yes, she had definitely returned, and with a little more backbone it seemed. This he had witnessed with his own eyes. The music, his music, had flowed through her veins as before. He'd caught every emotion both in body and soul, and then those tears. Yes, he'd known which piece had caused them to slide down those soft porcelain cheeks. Just wait, my Christine, until you hear my lyrics, he thought as an elated grin lit up his features in the dark bedroom. It was only a matter of time before she belonged to him again. Dam and curse that marriage. Marriage was supposed to be forever, but only happy marriages he reasoned. These bonds can be severed, vows broken, with new, more appropriate ones applied. The Vicomtes reign of two years was merely a setback. Surely it must have entered his pompous mind, he was never any competition for the phantom of the opera. Yes, vast changes await you my inadequate little adversary. The phantoms power still echoes in the heart of your beautiful bride, while her voice screams to be set free to soar above the heavens. Why, she may even inspire me to abandon my darkness and live above in sunshine. Aahh...to witness those crystal clear chords working their magic into the hearts of all Paris. Crowds shall be lining the streets in search of those precious tickets to hear her sing. Hell, the whole world will flock to encounter such brilliance. Erik rolled over and let out a blissful sigh, such marvellous, wondrous plans must be addressed. His last thoughts as sleep finally prevailed.

Yes, peaceful sleep can be a blessing – for one with a clear conscience that is. In Erik's case, the blissful slumber was to be short lived, for in the small hours of the morning, green orbs were forced open, all senses on full alert to the cause. A noise, albeit a small one. Noises were a common occurrence. Fish jumping in the caverns lake, various rats, mice or any nocturnal creatures that found their way into the lair. All sounds familiar and non threatening were registered into the mind of the underground resident. Not so this particular interruption. The mask and a robe were thrown on within seconds, while a large powerful fist grasped a coiled rope. Yes, there it was again, a sobbing. Erik's face tightened in anger.

"Those cursed ballet rats." He hissed. At times, a dare was to be made among the dancers, especially with a new recruit, to descent the stairs as far as they can before the all mighty opera ghost appears with his punjab lasso. They would somewhat avoid the ever watchful eyes of their ballet mistress at closing time and lay in wait, all huddled together in a small dressing room until the theatre had been vacated. Occasionally, if he was bored, or angered by interruptions, he'd indulge their childish whims, sending squealing little hellions to the nearest escape window. Other times he was happy to rely on over active imaginations to complete the task for him.

"If one of those foolish rats have fallen into a trap, then so be it. Let them remain in the dark, an example for others who dare cross in to my domain." He followed the now pitiful sobbing as he ascended the passageways and corridors. All booby traps, upon inspection, remained in tact.

"Most disappointing." He mumbled. The weeping continued, no louder or softer, as corners, hiding places and rooms were searched to no avail. Growing tired of the situation, Erik's patience was wearing thin. The cries had ceased for a few seconds, only to return from the direction he'd just inspected.

"What is going on here." He growled between clenched teeth. Tracing back over his steps revealed no further clues as to where the sobs came from. Although they remained soft and ethereal, Erik could just make out the familiar sound emerging once more from above.

"CONSIDER YOUSELF WARNED. I DEMAND YOU REVEAL YOUR MISERABLE PRESENCE. ESCAPE IS IMPOSSIBLE." He Shouted upon barging into a large, empty ball room. Erik stayed fixed in one spot, waiting, listening for the slightest disturbance, ready to pounce on any unsuspecting prey. The cries had ceased again as soon as he'd entered, however, further igniting his rage.

"THERE IS NOT ONE INCH UNKNOWN TO ME WITHIN THESE WALLS. IT IS ONLY A MATTER OF TIME BEFORE I STUMBLE UPON YOUR QUIVERING CARCASS." He continued, silently gliding around the perimeter, keen eyes seeking out any abnormalities. Throwing open a door on the opposite side revealed a smaller chamber, equipped with an ensemble of long tables and chairs. Erik's grip tightened around the coiled rope as he silently crept towards the centre.

"IGNORING MY DEMANDS WILL RESULT IN DEATH. So you see, you cannot win this little game. MY PATIENCE ABANDONS ME, YOU SHALL RECEIVE DEATH WHATEVER YOUR CHOICE MAY BE. For I will find you...and when I do...your cries will be for your very soul. A somewhat more appropriate reason, don't you agree." He purred, dripping venom into each word. Without warning, sobs echoed from every wall in the room. The phantom whirled on the spot in the direction of each cry, a small layer of sweat had broken out across his brow, despite the coolness infiltrating the room.

"TWO CAN PLAY THAT GAME." He roared, using his own ventriloquism. His thunder following each individual cry around the four walls.

"I DEMAND YOU PRESENT YOUSELF BEFORE ME." The last of his roaring echo had ceased, leaving the room in an eerie silence. His harsh, warm breath exhaled from deep within collided with the falling temperature in the room, sending a faint mist tumbling into the night air.

Erik had continued to search the room running a warm hand across his moist face, including under the mask. An uneasy shiver had worked it's way down his spine, along with some semblance of logic.

"Of course, they've escaped. A window. There must be an open window." The sudden realisation had Erik frantically darting to each room, drapes being savagely yanked in all directions, while windows and clasps were viciously assaulted by heavy handed rattling and pounding.

"NO ONE ESCAPES ME." Reverberated throughout the entire opera house. If one had cared to look closely, small vermin and night life scurried to the nearest shelter, away from their vibrating enclosure, and the large, black caped figure they shared it with. Eventually, the pursuit had to be abandoned. There was no open window, and there was no evidence off ballet rats occupying any floor or room in the building. No unconscious young ballerina lay at the bottom of any strategically placed booby trap either. Nevertheless, the weeping had been real, it's source, alas, remained a mystery. The few surviving hours left of the night had a livid opera ghost cursing and pacing furiously. The idea someone had hood winked the master of illusion, definitely was not compatible with an over inflated ego. The phantoms sufferings had not dwindled as the sun rose across the skies and chased away chill of the previous night. The following day saw Erik casting suspicion on everyone that occupied the opera house, Madam Giry, once more, the brunt of his fury. Upon entering her office, she was assailed by a flutter of black material and an iron grip on her arm.

"Erik, what the..."

"Sit down." He snarled, once more looming over the desk like an oversized bat.

"Those simple minded rats. Do you account for every one that leaves my theatre of an afternoon?"

"Why yes, of course Erik. On your orders..."

"Then perhaps your must revise your supervision." He roared, bringing down a fist upon the table.

"Why. What has happened?" She was almost afraid to ask.

"It appears some of the little hellions have decided to remain behind..."

"Erik, I can assure you, no one remains behind. I see to that personally."

"And I am to be reassured by that assumption am I?" Madam Giry ignored the sarcasm.

"Erik, each and every girl is marked off my list when they depart and I myself check every room..."

"THEN CHECK AGAIN." He roared before disappearing into a wall panel.

Madam Giry sighed. Thing were so much better when that imaginary ballerina occupied his nights. Now this. Oh Erik, how I fear for your sanity.


	18. Chapter 18 Blindness Beware

Chap 18 Blindness Beware

The following day Odeon carefully went over the plans that were to be attempted after her aunts visit that night. She still had not gone into detail of Erik's behaviour for fear her well meaning relative would forbid any more travel. Therefore, the conversation was light and trivial. Not for one second though, did Odeon think she had fooled the wise one. At times, Aunt Neve would cast a suspicious frown at the comatose body, deliberately refraining from delving into any more questions, well aware her niece had other things occupying her mind – and what she would give to have an insight into those turning cogs. Alas, Odeon must have developed a way to block these all important thoughts. She had waited years for the child to cast off all immature antics and expand her abilities. Now the time appeared to have arrived, she was not sure if it was a good or bad sign. The girl had not yet grasped the concept of danger within these powers, made worse by her impulsive nature. On the way home she thanked the gods and goddesses Odeon had not found a way to travel on her own. The thought of her niece and Christine facing each other created a sickness in her stomach. She had no way of telling the events that would ensue, but permanent destruction to peoples lives, both present and past would occur.

"They are the same people." She cried out desperately to no one as she walked home. "Christine and Odeon must never meet. Only the ignorant and foolish would dare walk down that path. Tampering with the laws of time would prove catastrophic for all involved."

Odeon had had plenty of time for recalling Erik's deplorable, cruel behaviour of nights before. It was over this time also, she was able to find forgiveness for the casual indifference and absence of remorse. There was something terribly remiss with these actions. His temper and rages were the norm for the underground dweller and Odeon had become accustomed to the outbursts enough to totally allow them to go over her head. However, something had occurred to change his demeanour. Something vital that excluded her purpose In his life. Something Odeon refused to accept. Therefore, there was no option but to attempt the travel herself. Aunt Neve had never fully explained the psychic connection that was unique between themselves. More questions over the years lead to new information and lessons, albeit only bit by bit. The inevitable, 'when you're older, when you're mind and body are ready,' put a halt on Odeons continual onslaught of questions.

The idea of spying on Erik made her cringe with shame. There also remained the probability of stumbling across information to cause further pain, or something beyond her capability of mending. Perhaps something that was simply none of her business. Would he she possess the strength to bow out of the situation, or his life for that matter? That thought made her cringe again, this time with fear. An ache made it's presence felt in her heart. To learn she may no longer be required made her tremble in panic. No, Erik would never do that. Their relationship had advanced to a point of no return, she told herself. The music, the friendship, the trust...the intimacies. No, something vast had made a change in her beloved and there was nothing or nobody going to stand in her way. If spying meant a solution to the problem, then so be it. At least, that was the reason she'd convinced herself of, to alleviate a guilty conscience. The basics. What were the basics? Meditation, deep, even breathing, attaining a clear, blank mind, so much and so time consuming, she grumbled. Patience and serenity, two words Aunt Neve had stipulated, entered her mind. Concentration to the relaxed body began the journey, she remembered her saying as well. The most important, in Aunt Neves case, was visualisation. There were no explanations for this, her aunt had revealed. Some physics required this gift, others did not. It was just to be accepted, not questioned. It was the way...the old way. Only a few of us in this modern world still possess this gift. We are a dying breed, she'd uttered sadly. I can only hope the so called, new age followers, can keep it alive.

"I haven't a hope in hell of meditating or cutting my mind off from all outside interference." She complained. "I don't have the patience." A few tried and failed attempts ensued, leaving the frustrated patient disappointed.

"But I have determination." She stated through gritted teeth. "I didn't appear in your life to let you down Erik."

It was in the early to mid hours of the next morning before Odeon had success. The time leading up, however, involved the near impossible discipline of body and mind relaxation. Her reward came in the form of a violent body jolt. Not unlike the ones that have you wake up with a start from a bad dream, or from falling in your sleep. Odeon became aware she was standing, the only reality of the situation. Her feet were placed on a smooth cool, even surface, not the stone floor she was seeking, but the vision alas, remained unfocused. Odeon experimented with a few steps, aware her body appeared heavier than when Aunt Neve was involved. She quickly thrust out an arm for support, and came in contact with a cool wall, definitely nothing like the stone walls that lined Erik's passageways.

Her first thought was disappointment, that was soon replaced by apprehension. She was not with Erik, nowhere near his realm. With both palms upon the wall, she turned her head sideways straining for some recognition of the surroundings. Some blurry objects moved in the distance as far as she could discern, and it had crossed her mind to call to them, but decided against it. She knew nothing of who or what they were. The only noises she could make out were muffled, as if her ears were filled with cotton wool, thus making it impossible to tell if it were in connection to the moving blobs that came and went. Where ever it was she'd entered, the frightened girl received the impression her enclosure was a hive of activity. Occasionally, sharper sounds and rumblings could be heard. Thumping, maybe running feet – Odeon desperately longed for a familiar noise. Anything to give a clue as to where she was. In fact, she didn't know where she was, what danger she may be in, or, the most important, how she was to return. That part of travel had been blatantly overlooked. The reality of the situation dawned upon her as a familiar smell assailed her nostrils. Oh how foolish she was to attempt this without her aunt's guidance. Her head turned slowly and heavily to the opposite direction, the vision before her improving a few seconds as the haze ebbed and flowed. A white floor, pale coloured walls and long lights overhead were briefly uncovered.

"No." She started to sob. Her feet took the heavy weight of her body as she tried a couple of steps. "I'm nowhere near him, have never been even close. Dear god Erik, I tried...I tried so hard..." Warm tears flowed down flushed cheeks as realisation hit home.

"I'm still in the hospital...this is a hospital... that smell. All that preparation and I'm still in the hospital. Dear God, can any one see me I wonder? What will happen if someone touches me. I must return to my room somehow. My room, how the hell do I know where my room is? Dear God, which direction do I go? " Willing her feet to move, Odeon took a few more delicate steps, still supporting herself with the wall.

"So Heavy, my arms and legs feel so heavy. Everything seems to be moving in slow motion." Even breathing was a labour in itself.

"The door, I must find a door..." The distraught patient abruptly stopped mid stride, unable to keep uncontrollable sobs erupting from her body. With the situation dawning, these sobs were mixed with hysterical laughter.

"You stupid foolish girl. Not that way. You cannot return that way. How do I get home...where is my physical body?" The hysterical sobs only intensified.

"Oh god, if I can't return, will I die...will Aunt Neve find me dead in the morning? No I'll die tonight..right now." She rambled. "...and Erik. If I die I let you down. Oh, Erik, please forgive me.. Oh, dear god don't let me die here please, I have unfinished work. Don't let me die, not now...not yet."

"THEN DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT." Came a booming, authoritative voice. Odeon jumped violently as the words echoed through out her head, her hands searched in vain to grasp something to hold onto.

"Who, who...are..."

" GET UP... THINK... MY FINAL WORDS." The echo stopped abruptly. Odeon cast wild eyes around the blurry area.

"Oh my god, I'm frightened...I'm so frightened... What was that...who was that?" Unaware of regaining her upright position, she, never the less, felt a surge of strength pass through her body.

"Those words, whoever it was...they were right. I can do this...I must do this. Yes, think, concentrate, visualise. Your safe place, your warm secure bed...sheets...pillows...and yes, even the machine that keeps you breathing...that most important instrument that keeps it possible to return to Erik...Erik...Erik." There remained only a vague memory of Odeons return. The most prominent was the sensation of being dumped upon the bed safely back in intensive care. Before exhaustion overcame the patient, tears still flowed and sobs continued to wrack the body. Once again blending, in an emotional relief, as well as emotional inadequacy.

"I'm so foolish, so useless. I don't deserve powers, no matter how meagre. I'm just not good enough. I can't travel...well not far...and then I panic any way? I was stupid enough to attempt travel without the knowledge of how to return. How could I have been so irresponsible." She wailed. "I can never be like you Aunt Neve. What I did tonight, you'd be so disappointed in me. I am ashamed of myself to even consider confiding in you – and I was so scared. Your would never be afraid Aunt Neve...But, oh imagine If I had succeeded. Would you have been proud...so proud that I had matured...then again." She continued with her self doubt. "No, you would not have been proud. Your would be angered at my folly. Your wrath would have rattled the world and beyond because of me. I can't win, I cannot do anything right...and now, I have acquired more fear...I fear you Aunt Neve and your punishment." Shedding more sobs, Odeon fell into an exhausted asleep...but her cries didn't. They journeyed into the night, connecting with the invisible eternal vibrations that penetrated the centuries and millennia – some, dropping off at specific destinations in the past, endeavouring to aid in a situation. Some even penetrated deep into the catacombs of old buildings.

* * *

The following day saw Erik struggling once more to remain calm while waiting for Christines arrival. The motive behind relentless pacing was a norm for someone undergoing such important matters he reasoned. Pacing was only for the weak and the uneducated who applied it to something as mundane as, biding time. Those, seemingly incapable of practising self restraint and the control of ones emotions, the pathetic who lacked self esteem, yes, pacing must aid in whatever insignificant matters that cropped up in their meaningless existence. Likewise, the endless glances at the opera houses entrance were bound to be second nature. After all, it was his theatre, and one must keep track of who visited the building. The abstracted grooming, slicking back ones hair, ensuring the position of the all important mask was just so, smoothing down his suit, tie adjusting, all part of the ritual for an opera ghost. Image was of utmost importance, even for the unfortunate who came face to face with the theatre phantom. Today was no different from the rest he told himself. Never the less, when she made her appearance, it may have been the first time he'd laid eyes on her. Madam Giry had greeted her immediately as instructed to escort the soprano to the same room as yesterday. The small window had been purposely opened allowing fresh air and sunshine to filter through. Everything for Christines comfort, only for Christine.

The familiar form made the same hasty dash through the hidden passageways aware of the pounding in his chest. She was like an ethereal being emerging from a beautiful dream as he adjusted his eyes to the glare from the unfamiliar sun. Erik was aware he was staring and, swallowing thickly, forced words from his mouth.

"Christine, a vision of perfection as always...although, a little paler perhaps." Damn, why must he always have an insult ready at hand? Christine opened her mouth to reply, unsure of the context of his words.

"Hello...Erik." She decided in the end, just to be on the safe side of an impending argument.

"Name still uncomfortable to utter?" He asked off handedly.

"No Erik, your name is of no bother to me." He eyed her suspiciously seeking out any hidden meaning in the reply.

Now how am I to take that remark, he wondered. Before the chance to indulge in more sarcasm that came so easily for him, Christine interrupted his thoughts.

"Pleasantries out of the way, am I at last to hear the complete rendition of your music?" The word music, instantly brought the composer back to the present. A moment lapsed before he could tear his eyes away from her innocent stare. Her few words had filled his heart with joy. Christine had asked to hear his music, her music. Turning his back, he swiftly untied the leather sheath, therefore shielding her from clumsy fingers. Dam that woman, he mumbled to himself. As much as he wanted to steal another glance, he decided against the idea, afraid she would detect his nervousness. With music sheets in place and firmly seated, Erik's fingers began to caress the ivories, instantly bringing the dull little room alive with beautiful melodies.

"Wait, Erik please. Forgive me. Does this music have a name, or a story of such behind your work?" Erik's eyes blazed from the interruption.

"Confound it woman, does this privileged simple life of yours condone rudeness? If you must hear my music, you will hear it without interruption. Do I make myself understood?" Christine lowered her head in embarrassment.

"Yes, please do continue. I'm sorry."

"I shall begin again." He said tightly, ignoring her apology.

Therefore, once more, the room thrilled to soaring melodies such as, I Want You Real, to the up tempo, more aggressive, She's Mine and The Reminder.

Christine had roamed trance like around her confines, intently taking in every note that had been created in the tormented, fragile, yet brilliant mind of her former tutor. More confident now, he indulged in glances in her direction to find her at times staring incredulously from the sheer beauty that assailed her ears. Some of course, had been heard yesterday. Today he had played the full pieces and left the best till last.

"Erik, this is pure genius. Every note...it's extraordinary." She gushed, hurrying to the piano for more.

"Christine, from what I can remember. Your are an extremely good actress. Please, tell me your words are not some cruel game you wish to amuse yourself with." He despised the insecurity in his voice that memories evoked.

"Erik, what are you talking about. What game. This is magic, astonishing. Why must you always suspect ulterior motives from me?" He stood abruptly from the seat and leaned dangerously toward her.

"You really expect me to answer that ridiculous question. Experience, my dear." The last three words were almost inaudible, yet they were received with all the menace he could empathise through clenched teeth.

Christine took a few steps away from his blazing orbs.

"I...I would never, could never, lie to you about your music. How can you think such a horrid thing."

"Ahh...but you found it easy to lie about emotions."

"No Erik. I didn't lie. I...I was confused, scared...I'd never lie to you about your music. Everything was your music."

He sat down slowly.

"Yes, my music. Always my music...and unfortunately little else." Came a sigh.

"Please can we not argue. I do not wish to bring up the past yet again and spoil another day." Christine advanced back to the piano.

"Erik, I wish to hear more. Tell me, what inspired you. This surpasses all your other work."

"Christine, you never stayed long enough to hear my other pieces. I possess a lifetimes work in those catacombs. You foolish woman. Did you think I started composing the minute I laid eyes on you?" He bellowed.

"Of course not." Christines cheeks had acquired a tinge of pink.

"Then I put it to you, one of such little knowledge. You sorely lack the insight to judge. Your life could have been filled the most exquisite notes. You had only to remain by my side."

"Why must you always make everything so difficult? I am here, aren't I...willingly. For gods sake Erik, I am trying my best to grant you a complement, but it is never enough, is it? No matter what I say, you will always twist words your way. What has happened to us is passed, but it will always be my fault, like you never played a roll in your games. Forever I will be wearing a tag of blame around my neck. Am I never to be free of your accusing eyes?" Christine halted for a breath.

"I only wanted to hear your new music, knowing how brilliant it would be and you have to spoil that as well." This time it was the soprano that bore the blazing glare.

"You are your own worst enemy sometimes, Erik." The phantom elegantly rose from the seat feigning surprise, and took a few steps to her side.

"My, my. What an outburst. The Vicomte would be impressed. Or is that appalled?" Erik could not hide a smile behind the mockery. "I always knew you possessed a spine somewhere in that naïve little mind." Christines cheeks flared in anger while Erik's smile faded and was replaced by a savage sneer.

"There are few who would survive such an accusation. You do understand that, don't you." He snarled grabbing her arm in a fierce grip. Christine ignored the threat and lifted her chin.

"I presume we both have finished with insults. Can we now proceed with the purpose for which I was invited in the first place?" Erik glared at her, roughly dropping her arm. Keeping menacing eye contact, he backed into his seated position at the piano. Clearing his throat, he now responded awkwardly.

"Well...there is. I have one more." The one he hadn't quite convinced himself he should play. Even without the lyrics. 'What Would Happen If I.' He remembered the night it had been written. Such peace and happiness had descended upon him like a welcoming warm blanket on a winters night. Those nights when the ballerina had first appeared, breathing new life and music into the heart of the opera ghost. Those lyrics. Such perfect words for someone who had inspired beautiful melodies in his mind once more. It was only a moment and then it was gone. The shame, guilt, and yes, sadness of her absence. Memories of laughter, companionship, a sense of blissful belonging in her presence – oh yes, and those times of near uncontrollable passion overwhelming the both of them. Only a moment until he forcefully erased it from his mind – and so he should. There was no place in his life for that foul mouthed harlot now. Not when such perfection decided to return to his existence and was standing right before him. Why was it then, that a tiny sob escaped his lips on playing those first five notes? The meastros fingers froze.

"Erik...Erik what is it. Are you all right?" A warm gloved hand had been placed on his shoulder. His Christines hand. The unshed tears quickly dried as he took a deep breath and launched into the music of 'I Want You Real. Of course I'm alright. How could I not be while your touch burns through to my skin. How he dearly would have loved to utter these words aloud as he played on until the end.

"Oh Erik, Erik...how utterly beautiful." Her hand had fled from his shoulder to her chest. The other placed delicately over her mouth. He gazed in appreciation at her approval shining through her blue eyes, and for a second was reminded he'd gazed upon similar eyes just recently. But where? An uneasy twinge rippled through his stomach. This piece in particular had not been played for awhile and he was promptly reminded of its splendour. The uneasiness intensified with her next question.

"Erik, please, there must be lyrics for something so beautiful. Please, would you sing for me?"

Oh, why hadn't he done what he was best at...lied, said there were no lyrics as yet.

"I...ah...I suppose I can..." He cleared his throat and forced his fingers not to tremble as the first five notes were played again...with lyrics.

"Odeon opens my dark enclosures..." His voice stumble over Odeons name causing him to focus his attention to the ivories and not to the puzzled expression that was bound to be on the face of the soprano.

"Her shadow glimmers as she comes into my night."

"Her dance awakes inflames my senses"

"I contemplate what she'll bring to my life."

The song was impossible to finish and the last line 'what would happen if I' was never played. This time it was the phantoms turn to own a slight redness to the unmasked side of his face.

"I...I don't think there are any more lyrics...or... maybe I grew tired of it...perhaps I've forgotten..." Erik rambled on vaguely as he stood and walked to the open window, Christine in tow.

"I've never known you to lose interest. Especially with such emotion that has been put into this song. You almost torture yourself to perfect such quality."

"Writers block." Came a mumble.

"Well the lyrics so far are beautiful, sensual even." Erik reeled on her with insistent eyes.

"No, no...these lyrics. They are most unsuitable. Yes, it must be why they were not completed. They must be rewritten...yes...I will work on new ones tonight." He insisted.

"On the contrary, I think they are ideal." Erik ran a hand over his hair trying to make light of the situation.

"Christine, they were experimental. I realise now how inadequate they sounded. No, they will be rewritten...must be rewritten." He whispered to himself.

"So, may I ask of this inspiration behind this brilliant work?" Erik appeared to look straight through her.

"Inspiration?"

"Your other piece as well. The one you call, I Want You Real. Both these contain such pent up emotion. You mentioned lyrics were written for that also. Please, may I hear them. Please Erik, sing them for me."

"I... I don't..."

"I express such desire to hear you sing and yet you deny me. Why Erik? Before you were so excited for them to be heard. What has changed?" Two hands enclosed around his arm and gently guided him back to the piano.

"Please."

With one last uneasy glance, he cleared his throat. Those hands, her touch...

"Christine, I really cannot see any point. From what I remember, these lyrics were experimental as well."

"Please." Came her urgent whisper. Another forced cough and a long pause had Erik launching into the first line, and after another pause, the second.

Your music fills my ears, and there it will remain.

Contained, till someone hears, my heart in tears.

Compose again.

He ran an awkward glance over her unreadable expression and continued.

You infiltrate my day and dreams at night.

And while your mind consumes my soul.

You hold, frozen in time,

Unending fire.

"I can't remember..." He quipped, placing long fingers out of sight under the ivories.

"Please." Christine interrupted.

Eventually the talented hands found their way back to the keys. Erik tried his best to sing the rest of the words as off handed as possible, but it didn't fool his intent listener. 'Reach out appear – I want you real' came to a close in a hushed whisper - and a long silence.

"Erik, it appears quite illogical to have these lyrics rewritten."

"Nonsense, you are only teasing me. Do not forget Christine, I value your expertise in the matters of music and lyrics, and I sense, behind such kind words of course, that you also feel they are inadequate. Yes indeed, I am now convinced they sincerely do need rewriting as well." The proverbial pin would have been heard if it had fallen to the floor boards.

"Depends to who or what the the song is about. There can be no doubt it was written straight from the heart...your heart." She said shyly.

"Always that curious mind of yours Christine. It gets you into a lot of trouble if you remember." His remark was left hanging in the air as he continued.

"Tell me then. Am I correct in detecting an overly keen interest in these lyrics. Does it appear I could be wrong in my judgement of your opinion?" The maestro rose slowly and walked to the open window. "The same overly keen interest in the song before it appears?"

"You have completed those lyrics also Erik. Of that I am certain. For what reason was I not allowed to hear them?" She demanded in a tight voice. "What, or should I say, who, is this Odeon...no no... wait, I am being silly. It has to be, what, is Odeon... besides the obvious of course." She gave a sarcastic huff. " The possibility of anyone abiding such a ridiculous name is preposterous." The masked side of his face slowly rounded on her.

"No more ridiculous that Opera Ghost or Phantom of the Opera, I am thinking."

"You have a proper name..."

"Yes, after all these years, it has become known to you... I have a name." Christine open her mouth to speak as the figure at the window continued.

"Do you think it unwise to harbour an unusual name? Have you forgotten, some had no choice? As usual, you are to quick to jump to conclusions my dear. For the lucky ones who do have a choice, and for reasons known only to themselves, they are free to select as they wish. That does not make her ridiculous." For a moment, the memory of the ballerina, opting to call herself Odeon, her own playful humour for her new found friend, brought a smile to his lips. He forced the image of that night from his mind. Why was he defending this creature? Why was she invariably popping uninvited into his thoughts?

"She, Erik...ERIK." The phantom was jolted back to the present. "SHE." Christine had uttered the word louder than was planned.

"I do beg your pardon, for a moment I was..."

"Somewhere." The soprano answered.

"I apologise. What is it you were saying?"

"She. So this Odeon is a ballet rat perhaps?" Erik's face dropped in horror realising his faux pas. He stuffed trembling hands into his pockets. "I had forgotten you preference for ballerinas." She stated. Erik remained silent, Christine continued.

"I see. There appears to be a woman, an inspiration to such...sensual composing?" Christine stated coolly. He had no option but to answer.

"Can it be. Do I detect, once again, the delicious emotion of jealously on your behalf? Presenting itself from the other side of the coin, the sensation can feel quite pleasing." The phantom gave a deep mock bow before slinking toward her. Christine, by now, had found something interesting to look at on the ceiling.

"The almighty, menacing, murdering Opera Ghost capable of finding a lover."

"A lover." The soprano snapped her eyes from the roof and fixed then on his penetrating stare. Erik was starting to enjoy this. He raised an eye brow feigning surprise.

"Those two songs, I Want You real, What would happen if I. They are about the same woman, are they not? This...this Odeon." A peal of disparaging laughter fill the room.

"My dear, the look on your face is priceless." He eased his hands from the pockets, placing them on his hips. "What I would have given two years ago lay eyes on that expression. Tell me, is it so inconceivable for me to acquire a lover?" He gave her a hard look, silent footfalls creeping her way. "Oh yes, what was I thinking? That can never be, not for someone as hideous as myself. Of course, the next question that must be asked, if ever such joy has found its way into my life...Has she seen my face?" He purposely thrust his face toward her. "No, no. Please, let me continue." He exploded with a raised palm. "How on EARTH is it possible to find a new muse when I reside UNDER it?" Once more an enormous paw was raised for silence.

"On the other hand, could it be, maybe...just maybe, that train of thought was so utterly inconceivable, you've led your mind to believe that my new creations could only be about the flawless Christine. That pathetic, tortured, monster pining underground for his lost muse. Incapable of finding peace, he has to create a companion in that twisted mind of his. Is that what you thought Christine?" In an instant he was at her side grasping her arm in a fierce grip.

"What a shock it must have been for your ego to have your name replaced in my life hmmm..." She tried in vain to wriggle free from his hold, causing her incensed former tutor to squeeze tighter.

"Erik, stop this."

"Definitely not. I must know Christine. Tell me, what is running through that pretty head of yours right now? Are you wondering, was she ever as close to him as you are now?" Erik placed the unmasked side of his face to hers, barely touching. The heat from both bodies gathering in the small space in between.

"You are wondering, are you not. Have I breathed in the smell of her hair, her skin, just as I do yours now." Erik breathed in deeply. "Have I experienced the warmth radiating from her body as it touches mine...yes Christine, just as yours is doing at this very moment." Christine was well aware of the urgency in his voice as green orbs seared into hers.

"Erik please, let go of me." She tried feebly to pull away once more, but the opera ghost responded by grabbing her other arm, forcing her flush against him.

"I'm not finished with you yet." He insisted huskily, his musky scent invading her nostrils.

"Why, your mind must be screaming with questions, conjuring up all sort of images...yes." A strong tug on both arms was applied for emphasis. The desperation in his voice intensified.

"Did she breath in my very existence ? Does the nearness of my body make her heart pound so loudly I can hear it in tune with mine...feel it throbbing along her veins...hmmmm?"

"Erik, don't." Christine turned her head from side to side fighting for air . Erik ignored her words, taking her shoulders in a vice like grip. He wanted to shake her, squeeze any type of confession out of the pink lips only inches apart from his.

"What else Christine. What other questions must be asked." The nearness of her was so intoxicating, control was slipping rapidly. This was not how it was supposed to be. What was happening? Erik was certain bare skin could be felt under his palms. Bare skin, where had he felt bare skin recently? He forced his mind back to the squirming beauty before him. "Two people this close, unleashed emotions growing stronger. Surely there has to be a kiss, wouldn't you agree. LOOK AT ME CHRISTINE. Would that make you crazy with envy. Could I ever hope for such a response from you...hmmmm." His face was so near she could feel his hot breath in harsh pants dancing on her neck, yet she still struggled to be free of his hands.

"Erik, please let me sit down."

"Aaahhhh... the respectful swoon. The faint permitted by ladies of class you've chose to reside in. Do you tease me once again I wonder? Is this a ruse to avoid more of what you wish not to hear? Well my dear, you will listen and you will hear. Now, where we?" He insisted, jostling her shoulders. "Ahhh yes, a kiss. Someone who welcomed my kisses and more." The frail soprano stopped fighting for a moment.

"Yes Christine, you heard me...MORE. More than you were willing to give, or would not allow yourself to give." Eriks breaths continued to assail her neck, evoking memories of a night two years ago when she had placed her lips upon his. Twice. A night when his heartbeats pounded against her breast. That night of the only choice possible for her – and it had been the right choice. Raoul had been a kind, gentle husband, and she loved him dearly, providing a secure, comfortable existence for them both. Although the elusive passion she'd experienced that night of the Phantoms disappearance never returned, Raoul had still been the right choice. The passion, she'd reasoned, had always been the opera and music. Until now, she never realised how much she had missed singing. Therefore, the answer to Erik, if he'd ever stop shaking her, and, possibly against her better judgement, would be to take lessons from her former tutor and sing for him once more. Why then, wasn't her mind filled with the images of the lovely candle lit cavern, the huge pipe organ, the peaceful lake. Instead a strange blurry vision of what appeared to be a ballerina came and went before her eyes. Yes, familiar blue eyes, not unlike her own, as if someone had placed a mirror in front of her.

"Yes Erik, I will return to your teachings. I will sing for you once more." Christine didn't know if Erik had heard her or not. Her voice had seemed so weak as she slid to the floor in an exhausted faint.


End file.
